Horse flies on pineapple ham -
Arriba screams in psychedelic orange
overtones as freaks celebrate spring
in full style, resurrected by purple
hallucinogens, sugar, and the sun.
They sing of lambs, being washed in a hot
tub, complete with last night's party favors,
in full back porch grandeur. Just a normal day
among the abnormal living among the normal.
The orange speaks loudest.
The fiddle player dances in circles
of time against the heavy two beat.
Gold leaves, a local IPA, stale fags
swimming in a rusty water-filled ashtray.
The dog has bat wings as she passes
by the red and black striped shirt girl.
Sassafras on the ceiling - floats left -
as the bubbles change her direction.
Marilyn Monroe should be here.
Her hot tub chariot awaits
folk punk steam trunks and legato blues-rock
ala Neil Young in a grand party dress.
Anybody have a lighter?
"Whatever makes you happy.
Whatever you want." Creep.
She looks out through heart shaped
pink sunglasses and sees half naked boys
and towel-wrapped goddesses dancing
a country dancehall foot-stomping boogie.
The circle breaks open and fire enters
his mouth, a dedication, to space worms
and the good doctor.
I smell braised short ribs.
I swear I do.
Bunny-eared couples in early mating
rituals drink champagne while the fiddler
asks for her bong and another Stella.
The king and queen waltz upon
the rooftop spreading their wings
like wild birds - then take flight -
The afternoon sun paints the pastel
blue and white sky in technicolor waves.
"The water is warm," she smiles,
and takes another sip of her martini.
"Welcome to Adventureland!"