BEATNIK: A Poetry Collection

pickle factory

I think there

is a factory

somewhere that

mass produces

bald men with

thick glasses

and dark grey

sweaters that

try to sell me

the keys to

self-improvement.

I was made in

a factory that

manufactures

plastic pickles.

the kind from the

German tradition of

hiding pickles in the

tree to be found by the

children come morning.

the factory

is closed now.

it was shut down after

the landlord gave up

drinking and couldn't

be bribed with Californian

wine anymore.

how I happened

I'll never know.