Damn mutt drank the green beer. His fur turned green. He drank some more. He spent all nite chasin’ snakes outa Ireland. They weren’t wild, naturally occurring snakes, but pets the nouveau riche let loose when their soddies were repossessed. Poor Ireland The dog woke up next morn hungover. Ffickin blackouts, he howled, need to go back to cursed ZZ, dog version of AA.
He din’t even know what he did the nite b’fore, all the Lassie heroics.
There were a lot of dogs hung out around this seedy lunch counter in New Jersey, none of them heroic, none alcoholics, none even Irish. Monster Mash had just come out.
Juke box plays it nonstop on the owner’s dime, which we punks love, but later wonder how the counter help could stand it. On both sides of the door are low metal coolers. Stuff in there looks like it was stocked during the Ice Age. If you touch both coolers at once, you get an electric shock. If you lick your fingers first, the shock almost knocks you out.
They did the Mash
They did the Monster Mash
It was a smash
It was a graveyard smash…
Richey Lloyd puts his hands full on the coolers. In two seconds he has a gran mal seizure. It’s awesome. His granma comes runnin.’ He’s visiting another world, says my older brother, as Richey foams at the mouth. His granma sticks the handle end of a large crescent wrench in his mouth.
You’re supposed to use a popsicle stick, says my brother.
What are you, a doctor? screams Granma, a hefty Sicilian.
My brother later does become a doctor, but nobody knows it while Richey is throwin’ his fit.
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over six hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize for work published in 2012, 2013, and 2014. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. He lives in Denver.