One time,
I was dutifully removing
my dirt from my
Boss' ditch
when a trusted,
if slightly madcap,
nightly news anchor
ordered me to lean out
of the nearest window & yell:
I'm mad as hell,
& I am not going
to take this
anymore.
As it turned out,
just as I was about
to voice my displeasure
with the depression,
the inflation, the Russians
& the crime in the street
whilst, mid-triumphant-sentence,
I felt myself painlessly succumb
to the ravages
of Iocaine poisoning.
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