If life gives you
lemons,
don’t settle for
lemonade.
Make a mansion of
meringue,
wash it down with
whisky sour.
I want to plunge a
pie
into this self-help
guru’s face,
sock him
in the middle,
watch him lose his
lunch, his idiot
recipe.
Life has dealt me
cabbage, to roll
round squares of
spam. Watch my email
blitzed by hucksters,
lying mother-
fucksters, who sell
the rancid oil
from basilisks.
There. I feel better
now I’ve vented.
Chalk it up
to primal scream.
They say Lennon
lost his mind
when he under-
took the practice.
Knew his name
half-rhymed with
lemon. Sense he’d perish
just past his prime.
What else goes with
dream? The swirl of citrus-
cream? Imagine
no possessions.
Look—you’ve bought this
hook and sinker,
my line about the
outhouse
worth a million.
Topple your home of
cards. Watch me deal a
King
from the very
bottom. Convince you
that it’s you. That an Ace
was just a one
which knew its
worth.
Andreas Gripp
January 26, 2025
RF Image
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