Prose Poem: The Adventures of Joe Palazzolo.

 

Now I'm not saying anything of this

is true.

And I'm not saying any of it is made up.

I'm just saying that in a world of 

infinite possibilities

some of this might just have happened.

And it might just as well have happened

to Joe Palazzolo as to anyone else.

 

Joe's a reporter. A damn fine one.

He works for the Wall Street Journal.

Well, one day a man comes into his

office . . . 

No. No; Joe doesn't work in an office anymore.

Hardly anybody does. Everyone

works from home.

So . . . let's see . . . 

Okay. Got it.

One day at his home

while tuning his accordion

Joe looks out the window

and spots a man

carrying a green pony

on his back.

Being a reporter,

this naturally incites Joe's

curiosity.

 So he puts on his reporter

trench coat

and follows the guy

at a discreet distance.  

 

This man that Joe is following

goes down a dark alley

to climb up a fire escape ladder.

And into a third story window.

Joe waits a minute, then follows

him up and in.

This is a terrible mistake on Joe's part.

When Joe recovers consciousness

he finds himself in a dingy room,

with the green pony staring

malevolently at him. Joe is

tied to chair.

"What's this all about?" Joe asks.

"Wouldn't you like to know" sneers the pony.

"Yes I would. I'm a reporter for the 

Wall Street Journal" Joe replies steadily.

This seems to upset the green pony.

It backs away from Joe, muttering:

"This wasn't part of the operation."

"I better contact headquarters."

 

The green pony bolts out of the room.

 Left alone, Joe manages

to gnaw through the rope tying his hands

and escapes.

 

Back home Sergeant Muldoon

from the police is waiting for him:

"Did you happen to see a green

pony or a man carrying a green

pony pass by this way?" he demands 

of Joe.

"Wouldn't you like to know" sneers Joe.

"Well, okay -- I was just asking. You

don't hafta bite my head off" says

Sergeant Muldoon, close to tears.

"Don't worry, Sergeant" says Joe

in a soothing manner.

"You can read all about it

in tomorrow's print edition."

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Palazzolo.

You're a swell guy!" And the

Sergeant bolts out of the house.

Happy as ham and eggs on Texas toast.

 

 

*************************************

haiku:

so who owns the clouds?

not federal property --

some guy in Dubuque?