The Venezuelan
Saturday Poetry Prompt: Dear Chaos…
Listen for it Manny — it is so subtly chaotic — so very cunningly embryonic — all of it, in such high fidelity — so symbolic — so hyperbolic — that persistent humming — a second coming — the deep tone rumbling of a rising red shirted chub messiah — cannot deny it.
When the tyrannical system of distribution finally went kaput and failed — so many cried, others wailed — but Manny — we quietly fist pumped and rejoiced — didn’t we?
I mean Khrushchev was so freaking enamoured by those Levi's jeans — wasn’t he? — but not us comrade — and while we are on the topic — please tell those Castro brothers, there can be no further rationing of rum or cigars while Hemmingway is around — got it? And Manny — do you even know how much alcohol and nicotine are required to fuel the kind of yarn that guy spins — well to be honest — I don’t know precisely how much either, but I think we can all agree it’s a mighty shit-ton — okay?
And please Manny, write this one down — if that assiduous Kenny Loggins calls back again, please tell him the same thing I told Ernest Borgnine to his face in Caracas back in ’58— it’s not for sale under any circumstances — period — full stop.
One last thing Manny — can you please have a polite tête-à-tête with Telly Savalas and James “Rockford Files”…
