Self-Helpless
Michael J. Menges
Helmet lockjawed tight, glued armor rattling,
He struggled and staggered and tripped battling
His stifled weight. I said, “I know
Gloom and sadness
Is your metal suit. Heed!
Madness
Will drag you flat!” I whipped
my Christian sword
And my Buddhist blade, and moved
toward
My liberating goal, Pushing him
down,
My Buddhist blade moving skilled
like a clown,
In the armor’s cracks slit, and off the steel
And arms’ flesh split. “Soon
now you will feel real!”
I cried and folded his hands
And hacksawed
’Tween gloves and mail. The Christian
sword so awed
Him that he dropped a prickly
scream. My Peale
Yes-Thinking cutlass with my normal
zeal
Slashed through his helmet and
scraped out his eyes.
My tropic syringe slipped,
despite his gasps,
Through tiny slits forced his
mouth just to rasp.
My psycho-therapier to his
chest,
Darting under his breastplate,
snagged his pest.
A furry, small rodent, branded Ego
Was speared bloody dead. I said, “I
must go!?”
