More and More

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TOO STONED TO REMEMBER, it was nowhere near December
And ‘though apathy did engender I drove myself to grocery store
Badly wanting flavored floss because from stuck popcorn I was cross
And hunting the last sedan spot had turned into a choir
Why then, tell me, should hunting a spot become this big choir
What am I doing this for?

Wheeling steering wheel spritely, I lined up those lines lightly
When in my spot, frightfully, a raven lighted—fearless of my uproar
Revving engine loudly, yelled I those textbook taunts oh so proudly
That into blue clouds with frighted wings it might just up-soar
But the bird at my tire fixed and still stood there all the more
That stupid, feathery whore!

Rolling down my window, with arms flailing all akimbo
I exclaimed, “Some bird, huh? A real Rambo—this thin pedal what if I floor!”
The bird made no reaction like a feathered fowl full in traction
So with calm of Action Jackson I opened wide the door
On shoulder perched it while I, laughing, burst as ner’ before
“Bird, at least you’re not a bore!”

Back in my car turning, with merriest laughter burning,
I asked bold bird with fullest yearning, “And what, on Earth, are you still here for?”
Not thinking it verbally gifted, I pulled in, parked and shifted
When replied it so slowly as if a new Pauly Shore
With all the laid-back cadence of another Pauly Shore
Drawled the bird, “Like, I want more?”

Out of my car walking, with moms and kids and dads gawking
At bird on shoulder like a pirate hopping with a prop you must ignore
Through the moving doors we entered, and its presence was not censured
As buyers allowing anything within their bright store
Would condone any behavior within their bright, big store
Speaking-out is such a chore

Now, I partook myself to finding that floss of my pining
And with toddlers and moms both whining, I spied what I had been looking for
Picking up the cherry floss, of course, then certainly I was boss
And I lifted high its plastic package for all the store
With this feat finished, yes, the sole reason for seeking store
Drawled the bird, “Like, I want more?”

“Grasp we the intended! Let’s buy it and be contented”
A little boy leaned in and presented, “How come that bird you keep ignore?”
“Cause its brains be made of feathers; man and bird be not together
I be brains of all actions and what becomes bought at store
I get just the needed, mastering card swipes at this store
Drawled the bird, “how about more?

“Ahh?” said I; perhaps one more purchase might help to curb this—
Appetite of bird ridiculous; perhaps beer-soaked molars are less sore!
And if one thing is spoken then once the floodgates now be open
Why not nab more niceties while at splendid spendful store?
Why not upgrade basket into pushcart while at this store?
Because what is credit for?

But, above heads dangling hung plasmas now angling
For sacred values declaiming from a Cribs show never broadcast before
Pawing candy galore, kids craned to the front-man from Faith No More
A nice icebox stood he before, flung he open that door
“Nothing!” spoke he, bently, “Use your own heads a little more!”
“Raah!” screamed that bird, “MORE! MORE! MORE!”

Fear then, for bird out-crying for if it was not lying
And feathered fowl had need for plying with items scattered throughout the store
Was I this cheap, chincy master not to curb a big disaster
Lest from fits of greed at some kid’s eye it should peck and bore?
Could I not relent and stop playing the cheap, frugal bore?
“Fine! bird, now I give thee…more.”

Rushed we the aisleways and with doubts not askance nor sideways
Flung food while lights of such dimmed rays obscured items tossed mere moments before
Yes, we rushed and grabbed more than needed, our wants nor tastes not heeded
‘Til we had stacked more than single man could stock, serve, or store
Grabbing one or two of every token at dimmed store
“Surely, Bird, I am not poor.”

As lights arose alighted, a sight startled and incited—
Terror and deeds unrequited—unknown to my secreted thoughts before
On shoulder of each shopper, perched a raven!—I state no whopper!
Each feathered fiend croaking commands as my bird had before!
Leading patrons aimlessly with cries made as mine before.
Drawling, “Ahhh, like we want more.”

There, wives competing, on augmented breasts all but beating
Wriggling fingers repleting conflict diamonds, each bigger than before
And husband’s girlfriend’s in training, wallets still but slightly straining
“No—no time to cook,” said he, “A tee-time with boss at four”
“Yes, no time to cook,” said she, “to the spa with friends at four”
Drawling, “More, more from our amore!”

Annoyed at bird on shoulder in my words I grew bolder
“Bird!” said I, “What right have you in colder, air-conditioned grocery store?”
And bird did not pay attention, not a moment’s-note my mention
“What’s wrong with sunshine,” said I, “and the dumpster bloated o’er?
Why hast thou followed me, forsook the dumpster bloated o’er?”
Drawled the bird, “to get some more.”

Unmoved by my lecture, I fancied this bird some specter
Then I did conjecture, “Hear my question. Of its answer I must be sure—
Lies there in the valleys of Cali, a place more than, say, Maui?
Where a man of fame and success might never want for more?
A golden cleft of Cali in which to never want more?”
Drawled the bird, “You’d still want more.”

Blunt bird if I really had it—did not over cad it
Answer! and query deep damnit, ‘cause this is more important than before
If I surpassed all the others, nabbed more than my burly brothers…
Might fowl fashion me a gilded respect of nobler contour?
Might I find peace in this gilded respect of nobler contour?
“Didn’t you listen before?”

“Bird! do not tempt me, I let you in—I can dispense thee!
You’ve no grounds to upend me, nor could minute bird brains cage one social moor!
I asked not for your answer and it was harmless bird/man banter
Get thee back into thy lot and thy dumpster’s flyblown core!
Your truths do not preside me, hide within your dumpster’s core!”
Drawled the bird, “Like, gimmie more.”

And other ravens passed but whether steerage or first class
I hadn’t the nerve to speak or ask, for I knew their owner’s would be sore
And I swatted at the bird but it re-perched without drawling word
Then with no known cause, it rose with wings that made my heart soar
Leaving! free of fiend—as fickle as it came—made heart soar
And I shall speak of this no more.


About davidwallacefleming

David Wallace Fleming is a U.S. writer, living in Austin, Texas. He is the author of the coming-of-age, social media novel GROWING UP WIRED, and the satirical science fiction audiobook, NOT FROM CONCENTRATE.
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