Among 20 snowy parking lots,
A rock was all I had.
So that’s what I hit him with.
I hit him with the rock three times,
The fourth time, he got the point.
I found myself doing pantomime in a children’s shoe store in Pewaukee,
Wearing a diaper, and an ascot, and some stilts.
I thought: I never hit a guy with a rock like this before.
The rock was Xeno’s Arrow,
Never quite where it was going,
But I couldn’t let go until it got there.
Just after, I looked at the rock’s gray face and carmine edge.
I thought of the quarry it had come from
And all the other rocks there.
My arm’s tired
From swinging this damn rock to and fro.
But I’d like to hit some guy just one more time.
It’s about lunchtime, and all I’ve got is a rock,
Which I’m hitting some guy with.
I sure wish you could eat a rock, sometimes.
Ahhh. Hear that accent?
I think I hit that guy just right.
The Thunderbird’s gone.
I’m indenting some guy’s head
With many circles.
I was hitting some guy with a rock,
And he cried out sharply
You’re not hitting me with a rock!””
I’d put this rock
If I could.
Ha ha! Listen! Vibrating in the perfect after,
Like Odysseus’ bowstring.
Can anyone hit some guy with a rock like me?
I don’t know.
Snow, snow, snow, then KONK, out of nowhere,
This beautiful, beautiful rock just hit me.