Pop Culture Paciderms


The elephant in the room

led to day-drinking. . .

ensconced in studio equipped with

hot plate,

bath-free commode,

and screened window of fluctuating size,

the addition of Babar

made the  claustrophobic closet

one paciderm too populated

–and margarita short of Taco Tuesday

 

the elephant wasn’t too blame. . .

the work-around I employed

–learning to scale walls–

hinged on equipment prone to error,

and the work-around he found

–at Christmas office parties, and stultifying family gatherings–

was sporadic at best,

since despite his edge

of maleness,

whiteness,

and impressive trunk & toenails,

there just wasn’t much call for

white elephants, anymore

–particularly offline.

 

The day-drinking fed

into night drinking

–hapless hours in which the tusky fellow also partook, and by the gallon–

me, trying to forget,

and he, completely unable to, possessed as he was

of regrettable long-term memory–

all of which ultimately resulted

in photosensitivity

–on my part–

and sticky skin

–as far as he went–

 

I tried coping. . .

purchasing pair after pair of drugstore sunglass,

but no matter the tint,

Babar always looked in the pink

when I wore them. . .

pirouetting despite the notable lack of pomp & circus,

–doubling down when I rested–

his coping mechanisms

were understandably murkier. . .

comprised of Wild Kingdom reruns,

shelled peanuts,

and mammoth hangovers,

–but then. . .

so were mine.

 

 

 

About Charron's Chatter

I bring to you an arrow, whole, Use it, or break it, But if you choose to take it --Know-- With it also, I will go. © Karen Robiscoe @1992

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