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Postmodern Village
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Lunchbox
by Francine DuBois

For Kathleen, of course

There’s something about that man
You just wanna shellac;
He makes you want to rip him out
Of his waxy body and spread the gloss
All over his "rippling muscles."

At least that’s what she’d have you believe.

I see an aging man, trapped by leather pants
And an inferiority complex. He struggles daily
With the fact that his life is a farce.
Women in Germany swoon over him, yes, but
Only during Oktoberfest when anything goes.

Q. What do you get when you cross David Hasselhoff with cheese?
A. Even more cheese

She’s saving him for posterity, she claims,
As the nail polish glides over his metal face.
The lunchbox, a physical manifestation of childhood idealism,
Now sits on her lap, holding a Dr. Pepper and nachos.
Is this what he had in mind when he agreed to this?
An attractive twenty-something clutching his image
In her lap, opening and closing him in order to
Achieve satisfaction, thinks it’s a beautiful dream.

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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