Jackrabbit Slim’s
a dinner date and dance contest
Come on aboard, I promise you
you won’t hurt the horse.
Follow the leader—
bored. Bandwagons don’t
titillate me. My mind
doesn’t latch on
to slogans and groupthink,
banners waving, fanatics raving.
This is some parade, yesiree Bob
Manufactured martyrs leave a
saccharine aftertaste, and I
like my steak
bloody as hell,
not burnt to a crisp.
There’s no pulp in fiction,
it’s all in the pit,
moshing around an
absence of grit. Wave
your banners, sing your song.
Forgive me if
I don’t tag along.
While you sit and sip
your five-dollar shake,
I’ll be on the dance floor,
doing the time warp again.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Ekke Ekke Ekke Ekke Ptang Zoo Boing!
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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