As Halloween costume,
one year during early grade school,
my father got brilliant idea
for sole son dressed
uniquely ******* qua
putrid offal getup.

Missus Shaner (talon clawed,
shriveled relic archaeopteryx dinosaur,
who taught fifth grade) gave
me first prize, and subsequently
felt so convinced about authenticity

of this kid being “white
trash”, she notified another
classmate dressed as janitor
to dispense me in school dumpster.

The receptacle sanitation
disposal company bequeathed
altruistic dumpster vis a vis
to dive amidst maggoty muck

(in addition to real *******
in dumpster) nearest landfill
loaded with all kinds
of junk, viz food scraps,
recyclables, and soiled diapers.

Over short span of time,
detritus commingled into
one brew of despicable,
fly haven, jiggling lifelike,
nursing putrescence re: teeming

vibrantly, mark kid lee,
noisomely... with yum zuck
for swamp thing, I seemed
metamorphosing into
by cruel hoax.

Nothing prepared, neither sickened
nor violated senses of smell,
sight, taste, and touch to
maximum factor tolerated
of each odious blast, each

pestilential assault issued an
appalling refrain sans:
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser than
the Driver of the *****
and Whipping Cords Will

Serve You More than Ropes
Will Ever Do, before mine
myopic bespectacled eyes
(smarting from constant comet
drubbing irritants (which

glasses kiddie bifocals caked
with smudge good as naught),
stayed shut while inundation
of corrosive gaseous shaped
oxbow wreath wisps.

Liberty vis a vis in sight envisioned
visibly threatened offshoots
of tendril spikes; snaking sneakily,
sordidly slithering silently,
yet straightaway as a scene from
some spooky sideshow,
or “haunted house”.

This ugly slop
splashed upon mine formerly
pristine academic uniform
appeared near identical to
l grubby, crabby, arguably

meanest lunch lady
served i.e. via lob stirring)
splattered sundry speckles
sundry detritus found me
writhing with nausea.

Thee nasty muck and mire found
formerly introverted boy
transformed into sponge bobbing
squarely panting creature

from the black lagoon, whose
sea legs set sought semi-
solid stated surface to stand
upright amidst variegated
flotsam and jetsam.

Dishabille appearance acquired
fresh splattered coat of rancid
slimy ham and bacon
covered arms (among other
pieces of moldy clothes,

food and iconic library oddment
ricocheting unpredictably
as trash truck violently
shook up and down all
night long en route on

highway to hell to Moyer’s
Dump, which toxic brew
would be declared Superfund
Site and shuttered
in near future.

Once Robert
Hall wardrobe affixed with
capital one fancy feast of
grateful dead roadkill,
kickstarter from some automotive

contraption, and plenti of
fish heads (with square
pants trimmed with
lovely bones), I felt
indistinguishable from regular
riffraff riding shotgun.

When trucker parked and stopped
awful bin laden made ready to
empty contents within mountain
of olfactory noxious material.

A thought occurred, now might be
golden, (or rather **** steeped)
opportunity to extricate
myself from morass of
mish mashed, linkedin kind
dulled juggernaut, icky
first class bric a brac.