Who cares if Dali’s exhumed mustache is intact?
Who cares if a cat can say his master’s name?
Who cares if the Congressman
Thinks that NASA has a secret reason to go to Mars?
Who cares if there are nettles growing among the raspberries?
And that my friend is probably right,
That the stars are actually the tears of God
Reflecting the light of our souls.
My back hurt all night, and it still hurts
Even though my wife rubbed it with Tiger Balm.
That’s all that matters.
And when your back hurts all night,
I promise not to remind you
Of Dali’s mustache
And the sorrows of God.