Baloney

Location

29554
United States

My Uncle joined the circus,

which is okay,

I guess,

if you like that sort of thing.

Truth is,

that sort of thing really

creeps

me

out,

like how 

Lunchables 

creep me out.

They’re phony advertising,

if you ask me.

You expect a 3-course meal

complete with

clowns,

and acrobats,

and elephants that stand on

their toes,

maybe with a

fat lady 

thrown in,

just for something extra.

But all you get 

are two thick slices

of bottle-cap sized 

baloney,

sandwiched between crumbly crackers

with chocolate pudding on the side,

and complete with a gray

film

that melts on your tongue like fat.

You’re left with a synthetic taste in your 

mouth,

which just isn’t fair.

It’s not that I’m embarrassed of my Uncle.

I mean,

he can’t help having two left feet

(literally)

and a whopper of a head that looks like

a tea kettle.

But whenever I see him,

all I see is an old piece of 

baloney that fell

between the seat on the

school bus.

It makes me sick,

feeling this way,

because from what I’ve heard

he used to be normal,

with a lawn

and a dog

and taxes

and stuff.

But then one day

the police accidentally shot 

his dog

and my uncle shaved 

his head

and oh, 

man,

he saw how freaky it is,

and he went off the 

deep end

with the other packed lunches

who liked to think they were special,

but were really all 

the same.

I invited my friends to see him at the circus

with me, and I

don’t

know 

why

 I did, because

seeing him standing on an upside-down

garbage can made me feel a little

sick,

and before I knew what was happening,

I was chucking 

popcorn 

newspaper scraps

anything, really,

at him from the top of the bleachers,

And I was screaming,

well, I don’t even know what I was 

saying,

or what anyone else was saying,

really,

except that I will never forget the look on his

face when he saw

it 

was

me.

I felt like I was staring at an

old,

moldering slice of 

long-forgotten baloney that

only wanted to find its crumbly crackers 

again,

but couldn’t because the 

police were idiots

and his barber

insensitive

and me 

just your average

          Kid Cuisine.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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