Ode to Des Plaines

We’ve got locust plagues

in the form of summertime cicadas that

sap the will to live with their cries before

attaching themselves to shirt backs,

the car seats of those foolish enough to crack

the windows of their AC-less beaters.

Yearly deluges from the Des Plaines River,

to the point where canoe is viable transport.

Wailing and gnashing of teeth

in the unincorporated part of town (where I’m from),

where the primary forms of entertainment are drug use

and drag racing on roads that are more pothole than street.

The city’s claims to fame include being the site

of the Flight 191 crash back in ’79

(still the deadliest aviation accident to occur on U.S. soil);

the hunting grounds of killer clown John Wayne Gacy;

and the hometown of the world’s first Mickey D’s.

Yet with all of that said, here I am anyway.

The prodigal son returned.

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MR. BROWSE

Creepin’ ‘round inside us all’s a man called Mr. Browse.

His goal, you see, is for you and me to laze about like we’re cows.

He’ll wait till you’ve got work to do and say, “Hey! Look over here!”

But internet, you’d better bet, it’s best to not go near.

‘Cause if you do, he’ll smile at you and think, “Hey! I’ve got a rube!”

Then you’re out of luck, ‘cause you’ll be stuck all day watching youtube.

Don’t get me wrong, ‘cause any song you want to hear he’ll find.

But all day of, “It’s Friday!” and you’ll probably lose your mind.

He’ll say, “Hey Matt! Look at this cat that’s stuck inside a box!”

And, “Oh, hey Joe, don’t you want to know what sound’s made by a fox?”

But if you say, “I’ll keep away from him”, though hard it may be,

Then you’re the best, you’ve passed the test of productivity!

So unless it’s true you want to chew on cud just like the cows,

Then don’t be annoyed, be sure to avoid the man called Mr. Browse!

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