A POEM - I ADMIRED VAN GOGH'S SENSE OF HUMOR

I ADMIRED VAN GOGH’S SENSE OF HUMOR
On one of the public buses
From slimy tourist ghetto Kuta Beach
To soft, damp, drippy Lovina,
With its lush, green rice paddies
And black sand beaches,
I thought about Vincent Van Gogh
And had to let out a chuckle.
Then later that night,
Lying in bed and playing solitaire,
I let out another wicked cackle,
Thinking again about Van Gogh,
That sick, twisted fuck!
I kept picturing him,
Drunk out of his mind off absinthe,
Probably eating psilocybin of sorts, too,
Standing before a mirror,
Eyes burning wide and crazy,
Knife in hand,
Wretched smirk smeared across his face
And then him just carving off his ear,
All the while laughing like a demon,
Blood spurting out from his head
As he packed that limp, dead ear
Into an envelop, addressed, licked and sealed it,
Then dropped the fucker into a city mail box,
All smiles and giggles.
I bet he was holding his bleeding head
With one hand,
And slapping his knee with the other,
Laughing, laughing, laughing,
As he walked through the early Paris sidewalks,
Passing by young children going to school,
Gawking at the fucking madman,
Who’d cut off his ear and sent it to his old girl.