Great Pumpkin Poem

The dam broke through nearly a month ago, and the park ranger sat on a folding chair smoking. Cuz today I found my friends, they were living in silt, but they had a half Bugs Bunny and Bronx-Irish lilt.

Scared to find you out in the same old town, not sure if towns exist at all; everything’s turned out. Somebody went to jail just to buy you something; god came out, unexpectedly, as The Great Pumpkin.

I’ve never asked for anything, and I can’t even get nothing; I’d settle for a taste of diddly squat.