I’m going to start a business of making words for you.
You have stop signs for feet.
PLAYING THE DOZENS WITH MY SON BY PAMELA SUMNERS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 74
“You are a master of inconsequence.”
“What does that mean?”
“A person who thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips but who leaves no impact.”
“You mean like a bee-sting on cardboard?”
“Yes. That’s marvelous. Can I have it for a poem?”
“May I,” he corrects. “Sure. I don’t like poems or cursive music.”
“Ooh, I like cursive music, too. May I have it?”
“OK. I’m going to start a business of making words for you.”
“I’d pay you.”
“You are a big nasty glob with dried ketchup for a head and flies lick you—”
Here he looks up to read street hieroglyphics and concludes with
“—and you have stop signs for feet.”
He offers this up for a poem but I say
nah, save that one for your college admission essay.