Jukebox Words

There are words, sometimes single words
Little orphan words, solitary words like
Stupid
That hide in my head
As in fill in the blank:
You are…?

Stupid?

Exactly.

I know logically it isn’t true
But of what value was logic
Before the Greeks formalized it?

I prefer the upper Pleistocene
When five plus five
Equaled plenty.
Lots and lots.

What value is logic
When the grownups in the room
Are listening to their own
Greatest hits from their own
Wire-Monkey childhoods
And are just playing
It’s my turn now and…
You’re it.

Or spare.
Spare
The rod and spoil the child.
Were that true my shelf life
Would have an expiration date
Somewhere north
Of when distracted Jesus finally checks
His watch and realizes
He’s running late.

Sometimes when they
Had enough quarters
Or were just feeling
Like revisiting the
Hit Parade
They could feed that jukebox
Five plus five times,
Meaning plenty.
Lots and lots.

The hits just kept on
Coming around
Until the arms tired
Of swinging the belt,
And the voices hoarse from
Screaming. Prophesying.
Threatening.

When they finally got around
To testing Mr. Stupid
They found him to be near-genius
And of course
He didn’t believe it and
They didn’t believe it
And all concerned
Demanded a recount.