GREAT MINDS CAN'T THINK

the small man thinks no big words tonight
rather the demons feed his ears silly songs
of handcuffs and rubber cement
he has few hours to himself these days
and he spends them waiting
for something of which he is no longer certain
a vague recollection of adolescent idealism
a simple twist and he is there again
he knows the words to all the songs
but he can't sing anymore
not now, not since the accident
he thinks it might have been the pills
because alcohol doesn't cost that much
but the worms won't stop turning in his head
even when he shaves he knows other people can tell
so he remains in his marginally comfortable chair
in his all too familiar room and thinks of nothing new
but how can he think when his ears are full
with rehashed 1970s sitcom humor rank with innuendo
he knows you've heard it all before
so he shuts up, he clams up
retreats to his shell where the echoes roar
until he is forced out onto the streets
with that last thought of "fuck shit up."

- Marvin Scott Marvin, 1994