The barking carpenter picked a house at random
He tore up the carpet, tore down the wallpaper
He ripped off the roof, filled the structure with water,
dug out the lawn, filled it with stickers, stood on the
furniture and floated through room to room…
The baby was first, it went out with the water through
side window. Mom was next, stuffed in a bobbing oven.
Dad was last, he’s wedged in the trunk of the family
sedan now rolling into the painted desert. Onward,
westward expansion, the golden hills, the oil stained
apartment complexes, the purple mountain majesty…
Onward past nationalities, past teepees, in through
the missing hospitals, the sagging bridges, down ruined
boulevards and yellowed billboards; into the mushroom
shaped cigarette smoke of the mighty Marlboro man – tough
guys on horseback; lovers on rodent mounts for boogeymen.
The Carpenter moves on, through house, through
hovel, out of the suburbs, into cities, tearing down
scrapers and libraries, making way for the new world
full of grateful subjects, bowing to their destroying boy
and filled with the hallow majesty of pop music.