Poem of Garbage

“Dear Andy Forn the Great”

Dear Andy Forn the Great,

Here’s a list of ideas you have:

Money is gone when you spend
it.  Nobody is from any local place.
Government doesn’t create jobs.
She’s a witch.  You don’t care about
the ancient past but love history.
You don’t like the word “diet”
because you plan your meals.  She’s
a witch.  People want to take your
money and be jerks.  Mmmmmm,
pizza.  “I don’t like people.”  You
like being with people.  There’s a
wallet in the bank.  You have fun
clamping and friends don’t like you.
The word “clamping” is not slang to
you because your friends mean it,
although your friends are stupid and
sometimes talk about disgusting
ideas.  Tommy has abandoned you and
you’ve been talking to him.  “I get
tired of burgers,” you mumble as you
shovel that crap in.  Wendy needs
help.  Wendy doesn’t need help.
Wendy needs help.  Wendy doesn’t
need help.  She can’t walk and needs
exercise.  Big fat doggy!  He’s fat.
“My pants don’t fit!”  That driver is
stupid.  “Did I miss the traffic light,
Alex?  I can’t wait to be in the moun-
tains.”  You’re in the mountains.  You
need to be further away from people.
You like South Park.  “That’s crude,
Alex.”  Poetry is not interesting.  You
hum to songs.  “I get frustrated with
clients.”  You like talking to people.



All of these ideas above are what
you’ve said.

It’s very clear, from your use of
precise language with random fancy,
that YOU HAVE NO MIND.


Please, retrace your steps!

You’re a source of discord and
mean.

I love you, but you don’t know what
you’re doing.



Sincerely,
Alexander the Great

P.S. Woe is me! I’ve forgotten my Hot Pockets!