from: Back To My Old Self by Jeff Blackman (Odourless Press, 2011)
Mario in Koopaland circa Movember
Our hero crawls from a pipe one day until December, staggers into a march of mustachioed goombas and bros.
He clutches a green fireball in one hand, a suspender in the other
and wonders, “Where’d this blind chut deliver me? Is this carnival a warp, or did King Koopa reform?”
Even the sky trotters, even the cheep-cheeps swimming in prize displays are caterpillar lipped, shampooed & groomed to a glint
and combing the crowd, magikoopas panhandle with their wands, sing logos: “Find the poison! Be a hero!”
Mario lurches, chucks in his hat, lost in the fraternity, having pledged and been promised power-ups and life for every son of Koopa mowed
but the players’ guide never covered fly traps sprouting what you call, to be charitable, whiskers
and so slinks back to the pipe while the midway hum enunciates, “We’ve been growing.”