Monday, August 2, 2010

Fancy pants McGhooan

Fancy pants McGhooan had a face
round and perfectly smooth,
upsettingly smooth but bright,
like the fully distended moon whining in an expanse of blackness,
no—a gizzard of blackness,
in dimness worrying about the higher development
and organic liveliness of
other, more watery planets...
or else quietly just being handicapped, just sitting there grinning,
with somewhat more life than an arid, floating rock,
a look of mystery contentment on his mug,
troubling and inspiring to behold.
..who could say?
Some said he simpered.
His was the globally recognizable moon-face of
Down's syndrome.

The moon is lovely you know, I seen it,
with such perfect smooth lines,
with its frozen gaze saving you for a few minutes from the
stabbing-wound of knowing other people just like you,
from their jaggedy corners,
their hostile insecurities and limitations,
from the sadistic factory-work of human-being.
The moon is a thing you love deeply without ever knowing why,
unlike other people, which are things we know why we must love,
but seldom do, deeply.

The full, bright, dead moon
is inscrutable but utterly worth pondering,
unlike the living people, who tend to be
tasteless and static, alive yet dulled and elemental and predictable,
and never ever thought of at all, or thought of too much and too much of, by themselves and a neurotic,
clingy sort of self-serving way
and By others when by themselves, but only then
and rarely when together.

So that…fancy pants McGhooan…
is a pretty sight to see:
glowing like the moon
with a serious learning disability,
unable to comprehend
Only what is useless
…this being a quite useful disability
…as his boring orbit continues on,
Beautifully unchanging,

Fancy pants McGhooan is what many call a retard, with drooping,
gaily colored plaid pants
that are usually unclean by the standards
of those with real jobs and earthly faces, and
it's probable that
he's much happier than you.
i saw him on the bus
years ago,
beaming innocently across the aisle into the faces of the barren bodies
whose sad orbit brought them
daily back to work,
while he rode around,
Simply enjoying the thrill of public transit.

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