2:41 PM

by Dexter Collins

AT this very moment 35 years ago
I arrived fresh from the oven after baking
nine months to a golden brown. I watch
my odometer turn over in the mirror while
thinking aloud, ''If I hadn't inhaled, I could
run for President now.'' With that said, I seat myself
at the kitchen table with a chilled glass
of champagne and wait for them

The lifestyle-marketing police
should be kicking in my door right about now.
They'll drag me off to demographic re-education camp
where I'll be force-fed Harmony, the breakfast cereal for women,
subjected to Natalie Merchant's new CD
on a continuous loop at torturous decibel levels,
and issued two cats and the latest selection
from Oprah's Book Club
upon my release.
They might overpower me but
they will know they've been in a fight.
I will not go quietly.
And they can have my Skinny Puppy records
when they can pry
them from my cold, dead fingers.

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