A Poem I Found At A Hotdog Stand
It Is Nine Thirty On A Sunday Morning.
I Go To Home Depot To Buy A Wrench.
On My Way Out I Stop At The Coffee Stand.
The Attendant Is Young, Tall, And Beautiful.
Me- -Å—is It Too Early For A Hotdog?
Her- -Å—is It Ever Too Early For A Hotdog?
Me- -Å—well If They Are Still Frozen, Yes.
Her- -Å—it-‘s Never Too Early For A Hotdog.
Me- -Å—my God We Are Descending Into
Philosophy And It Isn-‘t Even Ten Am Yet
Her- -Å—it-‘s Never Too Early For Philosophy.
Me- -ŗit Is Usually To Late.-
She Hands Me My Hotdog And Looks Directly
At Me With Unearthly Pale Blue Eyes.
Her- -Å—do You Know Where The Condiments Are?
Me- -Å—yes I Practically Live Here. My Joke Is That I Am In An Experiment To See If A Human
Can Live On Hotdogs Alone. It-‘s For Nasa, The Manned Mission To Mars.
Her- -Å—it Seems To Be Working So Far.
Several Minutes Later, Driving Away, I Think
If I Were Thirty Years Younger And A Foot Taller
I Would Be In Love