Poetry from Jimmy Broccoli

My Apologies to the Lizard

I, reluctantly, sprinkle lethal crystals or pellets as death sentences for the unwanted to later find –

I sprinkle them onto the floor – along the baseboards…

Creatures that crawl, crawl upon the floor – into my apartment – and they cannot smell the poisons awaiting them –

and I very much wish they did – I wish they could smell the poison – so they’d turn away – and live – and not die – and not die because of me


My efforts were ineffective. So, I call in the expert…

The Orkin man visits my home and I welcome him –

He has a canister that rides upon his back – with a long tube that distributes the poisons –

Spray, spray – and they die – spray, spray, and more die following

He smiles – he’s a nice guy and he’s providing a service that makes it possible for his family to eat

“It’s there”, I tell him, while pointing at the small crack in the flooring that leads to the outside wilds beyond my apartment. “That’s where they come in”.

He nods his head intelligently. He is the professor of execution - a promiser of a pest-free existence (and I cannot help but appreciate him and hate what is happening) –

He shakes my hand and I shake his in return, with a manly grip –

No more creatures smaller than I am –

creatures without a visitors pass or my permission to enter –

I am god, judge most high and a disappointing and ineffective savior for bugs and insects – and I very much do not appreciate these roles


Hours later, there is a lizard on my bedroom floor. And he is not moving

Lizard - I wasn’t trying to kill you – I promise – I was trying to kill something else –

Roaches and mice (not the cute ones at the pet store – the diseased ones that run in the walls) and little bugs that crawl on the floor and in the windows by the dozens – gnats? tics? – I don’t know what they are.

Why did you have to enter my apartment?

The Lizard is dead – Lizard, you are dead

You’re on my bedroom floor –

And I’m using a tissue to pick up your limp body – and I am so sorry -

My apologies.

I know it’s not fair – I wasn’t trying to kill you –

Why did you have to enter my apartment on such a lethal day?


My apologies to the Lizard



Jumping Cows and a Moon Made of Green Cheese


I ask her what kind of animal she’d be

if she were not human and was an animal

She says, “a chicken” and I ask her “why (?)”

She says, “she likes to travel” and I like her answer

and tell her I’d be a wolf and she asks me “why (?)”

and I tell her, “Because I like to dress up like my grandmother”

And she smiles and says she understands


She likes floral patterns for wallpaper

and I like roosters or apples – at least for the kitchen

Roosters or apples, surrounded by flowers

-         and we both shake our heads in agreement

Red apples, red and brown roosters

and flowers neither red, nor brown

Yellows, blues, and purples – all blistering, bright and brilliant

Illustrated color panels stick to the walls, agreeably

and we smile in unison


“I’d be the number 7”, she says, and I ask her “why (?)”

“Because it’s prettier sounding than six with twice the syllables”

she tells me

“I like 7”, I observe – then think of the number 42

I say the two-digit number aloud

and she smiles again. “It answers everything (!)”, she exclaims

and I tend to agree – and return her smile

“If the devil is 6 (?)” I say and she replies,

“If man is 5 (?)” and then we both immediately realize

we are a perfect pair


I like watermelon – seedless and in July

and I learn she prefers other melons

throughout the year

-         honey dew and, and on occasion, cantaloupe


We, then, slowly walk - in opposite directions

both of us glancing backwards at the other – despair settling in

“If he only liked cantaloupe (?)…”, she pondered

“If she only appreciated watermelon – on a hot summer’s day… (?)”, I questioned

So, I huff, and I puff, and she runs like hell

avoiding the traffic – the best she can


I, frantic, run into a tiny house

inhabited by a posse of men shorter than I

and a woman unconscious – in a coma (?)

lying on a bed, frighteningly pale

“One of the pigs is over there”, one little person exclaims

“She likes bricks”, he tells me – and I, too, like bricks


So, I begin the short walk to her abode

and will ask her if she prefers pie or cake –

and if she says “pie”, I hope she’ll choose cherry –

and, if she says “cake”, I hope she’ll say “lemon”


And, if she then adds, “with whipped cream” or “with extra frosting”,

I’ll gladly listen to her oink –

every day and for every night for as long as we both shall live


-         and I’ll never eat her


I promise

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