Gasoline smell filters in:    is the
microwave on the fritz again, or
should we be alarmed?
The weekday 1-2-3-4s along with the regularity of a power chord
and drumbeat in a punk song;
Is the monitor glow melting my eyeballs out
And should I be alarmed?

Joey Ramone’s demented choir sings from within my burst eardrum
As I strain for the news of the newest gaffe
from the morning’s first press scrum.

The doctor says my health is fine but
the government’s not,
and I should be alarmed;
But it’s okay, just a viral thing, with no real long-term harm.
Just shared keyboard bacteria and recycled airplane air;
Take care; eat soup drink water and cough into your arm.

And will the paper shredder ever suck me up and pull me into its abyss?:
into a black hole    dragging through dimensions and ending in a waste-bin:
Just some red with the shreds in the bottom of a waste-bin.

And Johnny Ramone rolls his eyes at the nineties sub-par soundtrack
and smashes his guitar and                                                                                                           declares unilateral war and
the offending iPhone screen cracks.

Originally published in The Fulcrum as Campus creations: from poetry to prose (April 2017); April 5/2017