I Knew a Man Once
Christopher Thomas
I knew a man once who lived only for stuff.
All kinds of stuff. He liked big houses filled
to overflowing with stuff. Cheap stuff,
expensive stuff . . . it didn’t matter so long
as there was plenty of it, and it either came
in handy or glittered. It was the same way
with booze. He drank the stuff as if his liver
was made of iron. He collected unopened
bottles of the stuff from every corner of Mother
Earth, then shelved them like a library of liquor
or a drinker’s trophy hall. He did the same
thing with automobiles and steaks. The man
could consume so much he was like a black
hole devouring everything that came within
his gravitational pull. There was a strange
penchant about him that wanted to change
people into slaves. He even dictated how they
should eat their steaks. The more blood,
the better. He liked his so raw I’m surprised
you couldn’t hear the cow still mooing. I swear
that with a bandage they might have lived on
to mate and reproduce. He wanted hordes
of people around him at all times, and he
wanted them to behave just like his stuff.
They either had to come in handy or glitter.
