A Progression Poem by Zac Wittstruck

"That old man is destined for something, " said the little boy in penny loafers.
It was his day off, "boy howdy, " the cracks in the asphalt said loudly.

More meat in the stew, and don't be shy. This won't hurt a bit.
Maybe it will and maybe it won't. For the fourth time, who is the phone for?
I'm not sure where you're going with this, but I wanna go too. So what if she coughs? She's a
cougher. But a political activist by trade.
Whatever helps the country. Why? Why not?
Go eat your cabbages like a good little girl. And run on the treadmills on your down time, in the
meantime.
Just don't blame me for your indecencies. I didn't expose your temporals by habit.
And boy has he had it!
Wouldn't a known if it t'weren't for the lost puppies they found.
But where was I? And what did the headline say?
What did you say? Something about hairspray?

Forty armed men slipped and fell into a well that was not in South America, so clearly you can
see where I'm going with this. I won't bother with the rest.
Why don't you get some rest?
Eat that broccoli your mom saved you in the freezer a few weeks back.
It's still good, for you.
Unless your freezer went out.
Which happens.
Happens to the best of their abilities every weekday of the year.
Last Friday, but you were saying something.
I think it rhymed with scalpel.
Funny how the thunder immediately precedes the rain, like in the movies.

The fornication of a thought is blinding to the touch only to those who would be bold enough to
taste it.

The improvisation of a worm is often distracting.

I have lost a thought on the Greek Totem Pole of Life. It finds me daily often, which would not
be unusual, or completely inconvenient, for my selfish purposes.

The picture frame runs through my head, brushing my emotional teeth to the core. It is possible
for this to sound restrained, but the truth of it is,
It is hail.
But please forgiveth me, for I have squandered our tiny sum of nickels on a melon-sized lemon
from an old, dark, very loud and dangerous man. He discounted them very generously and
robbed me of my good intention.
I ran from the scout police that were new in town and they eventually retired uneventfully. But
as it were, I still had "the bug problem."

The Polish ice cream vendor, if you must know, was a must have on our list of Anti-Social
Friend Gang recruits, despite the fact he had neither the appropriate social skills
recommended, nor the lack of an indeterminate vocabulary. Whatever that means.
None of the boys in the gang approved, so eventually he was motioned out of the bounds of the
continuous support of mutual trust.
If words could only describe it.
It weren't for lack of trying, but no sooner that he got a head-start and tripped the old man who
was already falling (he had not crossed the finish line yet) , he was neither here nor there, so
the judge awarded him either a coupon or money. The crowd was aghast. I was so
overjoyed, I contemplated life.
I thought that to be vague was necessary, to a handful, a full house. When I sent this inquiry to
the (bored) board for approval, it (they) responded with great urgency and hostility.
But to be forgotten is to be a solid that emits gas.
But only on holidays.

This will be the last of it, the last of the wordless few.
With eyes closed (clothed?) you can see bright circles of black parading in the sea of dark light.
Just an observation.
What should be said to a tyke when he learns to gleak?
Say you're sorry.
The balloon shaped bubbles form from fragile liquid remnants of body fat and…
Ammonia?
Vinegar.
Vineyards through the glass of oncoming trains emit themselves bravely somewhere in Italy.