But I woke up one morning
without a nose;
instead I had a blue trunk.
Like an elephant.
I had granola and yogurt
for breakfast, like always.
My roommate didn't say
a word about the change.
But he took down the medicine
chest mirror in the bathroom.
It was awkward brushing my teeth.
I took the bus to work.
I heard one guy say to another:
"Must be a new show on Disney."
But otherwise people just looked
as normal and weary as always.
I had processed my condition by then.
It intrigued me, but did not
disturb me.
Nothing bad was going to happen.
I was a man with a blue trunk.
It didn't make me any better
or worse than anyone else.
I could just hold a watermelon
while playing the piano.
My boss at work called me
into his office.
He asked me to check on
last month's sales statistics.
As I left his office he said:
"Oh, by the way -- I already told
the main office about your blue trunk.
They want to move you into the broom
closet, so as not to distract your
co-workers."
I asked for this in writing.
When I got it I found a good lawyer.
We won the discrimination case
hands down.
But the monetary fine is tied up
in the Solicitor General's office.
Something about cybercurrency.
But later that same month
as I was walking down the
street to Chipotle for lunch
I was stopped by a police officer.
"Just routine" he assured me
as he took my arm to guide
me to the precinct station.
Inside the station the desk sergeant
spoke with an Irish brogue.
Not in a panic, but in a cool
analytical way, I began
to suspect that although I
was not dreaming, I was
probably in an old black
white movie.
And when I saw Allen Jenkins
sitting on a bench. looking
vacantly stupid,
I knew I was at Warner Brothers.
Joan Blondell was being booked
nearby for soliciting.
The desk sergeant asked
if I wanted a lawyer.
I said yes. I thought I'd get
someone like Ronald Reagan
or Leslie Howard.
I refused to say another word
until my lawyer arrived.
"Here's your lawyer"
said the desk sergeant finally.
Then I knew I was in deep trouble.
It was Hugh Herbert.
