John Locke Meets Fed Ex Poems By Mark Cunningham

Mark Cunningham lives in central Missouri and is the author of Body Language, from Tarpaulin Sky Press. He is also the author of 80 Beetles (Otoliths) and several ebooks: 10 specimens (Gold Wake Press), 71 Leaves (BlazeVox), Nachträglichkeit (Beard of Bees), Second Story (Right Hand Pointing), and nightlightnight, with photographs by Mel Nichols, also from Right Hand Pointing.

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She decided to brand the campaign Endless Summer, and she made the interns vow never to let up. The spokesperson said, “The job of selling must be done with feeling,” and pointed to a chart that listed the stages of the sales process, beginning with “The Approach” and ending with “Closing the Sale,” each of which was marked by a shoe print. We were going to build a border wall, but we couldn’t find enough illegals to work for the lousy wages, so the whole thing went nowhere. I convinced the farmhands that origins were unrecoverable, all the while stressing that since acquired characteristics are not inheritable, the egg comes first.

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Now when he sweeps the beach with his metal detector, he no longer daydreams he’s a pirate: he daydreams he’s Security. I like to sit inside the locked car while she stands outside and says, “Open the pod bay doors, HAL.” They said they weren’t censoring—they were highlighting with black Sharpies. When she said, “I’m very interested and I wish you the best of luck,” he knew she wanted him to leave.  

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She got all psyched up to help with the reforestation project, but then she couldn’t find a shady spot. Love isn’t always on time; he isn’t always on time; nevertheless, they do not love him. Our investigation of the “endless riches of the universe” stalled when we hit our credit card limit just as we were really getting started. An Alzheimer’s pill? I can’t even remember to take my vitamin.

   

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We burned all the maps so no one would find us, and then we remembered the name of our town is Ashland. Her essay “The Writing of The Writing of Disaster” turned out to be a real mess. When I saw how big my ass looked in the Godzilla suit, I felt like a total mutant. I took everything with a grain of salt—and now you’re telling me that’s why I have high blood pressure? Ever since he shouted, “It’s a bluff!” just before they drove off the cliff, no one will listen to a word he says.