I hear the smooth jazz
And hit the button for roof,
My heart beating its last,
My face held aloof.
The smog smiles wryly
As the doors slide aside.
I stand still for a moment,
The last time I’ll ever bide.
The horns ring below
From the unthinking mob,
Too tired to be angry,
Too doleful to sob.
The pigeons sing glumly.
I think of my sins.
Below the light turns red.
And my plummet begins.
My mind is cold silver
Filled with screams from below
Yet the light’s green again
And the cars start to go.
And then my fall ends
Not with New York concrete
But a trampoline truck
Driving by on the street.
I find myself soaring
Up and up, past the sky
Even frat boys would say
“He’s really high.”
I fly off the planet,
Gently drop to the moon
Where I land next to Elvis
Atop a dusty gray dune.
Somehow I’m still breathing.
Somehow I’m not dead.
Somehow all this happened
Just like my therapist said!
The Daily Travesty 