Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tarantula on a dead man’s face — hard times on Highway 61.
Note: The other evening, while eating Easter leftovers, I told my son that we should get rid of his cat and have a pet tarantula instead. I said we could keep it in a terrarium, and in the terrarium we could create a desert scene with dry sand and a narrow highway running through it — in honor of Bob Dylan, Highway 61. Somewhere along the highway there would be an old derelict motel, and a man sitting out front who looked like Richard Brautigan. The tarantula, down on his luck, would be walking along the highway with an old suitcase, stopping occasionally to wipe its brow. As the weary arachnid passed by, Brautigan would say, “Dry haiku.”
As the Conversation continues, I am exhorted to “scupper the old tentative outer-chap.”
“Dry Haiku” added to Poems, Slightly Used.