My mother used to tell us bedtime stories (back in the 1950s) about a Tom Thumb character she called "Frisbee". Then, in the late 50s, my father, a lawyer, patented the first "Frisbee". Now I'm wondering if the two things are connected somehow.
My Dad brought home the protoype no-name frisbee one day - my brothers & I threw it around in the yard.
Perhaps this is all connected somehow with the pervasive occulted subtextual obsession - in my longish poems - with time travel, flying saucers, etc...
the Russians are coming!
*
& hey, this reminds me once again of one of my 1st published poems. (I know I've posted it before here.)
BEEP BEEP THE BABY'S UP
you can do anything you want.
the baby here is trying to decide
about growing up human. he's rubbing
his double chin, he's a serious kid.
in a house on Arthur Street
a cap pistol is sitting on a desk
in the bedroom upstairs with the yellow
walls. according to the kid here
it's supposedly waiting
for the little green men.
the sky gets closer
as it gets more blue,
and you can recall
the 4th of July
all the heat
and all those little flags
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