Hacket found it rather heavy what his mother’d said,
Smack in the middle of dinnertime.
“Lousy daddies hardly never sit deliberating it.
So should there come a time…”
Still, that night aimed to talk the back leg off a donkey,
And an underground lake gushed his pulmonary cavity.
He woke with the weather swinging the back door wildly —
I should tell you: Hacket born John Justice. John, just as his father was;
Justice: from his mother’s side.
John became Hacket after quitting every sports team.
It was a funny time.
Still, Hacket was happy till a bug hatched inside him,
Its chemical guano set to shorting his penchants.
Add that to the booze and life’s general break dance —
Gets tough to harmonize.
What the plan is
On this itty-bitty slippery planet?
Could the only way out be the only way in?
Just like them?
Hacket had a sense of something sucking on his tether,
Snacking on his anchor line.
The purpose of the mooring long-forgotten altogether,
But still operating fine.
One day it was winter and dusk came quickly,
The airport security frisked him foreignly.
Hacket aware he had drifted considerably —
No choice but take it in stride.
Hacket hadn’t been home more than a liter or so
When all of his guests arrived.
The meeting came to order and the matter at hand,
All very civilized.
There on the platform with both trains approaching,
Thermometer bustling like a sausage of locusts,
Hacket at the window with his wallet wide open,
Fingering his final dime.