[In Pursuit of Fun]
In pursuit of fun,
we circle a track for hours,
our legs like bronze sculpture,
a perfect cut of muscle,
designed to attract
a doll-perfect beauty,
for sterile, and clean
safety-first tango.
In pursuit of fun,
there is always a television.
My friendly box does the thinking
for me; an injection of idiocy, down a long
hypodermic cable it sleeps;
the flashing entertainment box
always makes me laugh!
In pursuit of fun,
my friends occasionally speak.
“Are you having a good time?” they ask me.
Yes, I affirm and order another.
Together we hoot and holler
at the flashing box: sports.
In pursuit of fun,
there is always time
for a fast car ride.
I pretend that I am a race-car driver;
I am never scared of anything.
My shirt orders that there
shall be no fear. Fear is a sign
of weakness.
It does not exist.
In pursuit of fun,
I laugh at death.
I mock death because
It does not stimulate me
to think of dying;
there is a pile of ashes
at the end of the fire;
the fire never thinks of this.