Oh Gosh by Adam Bishop

Oh Gosh by Adam Bishop

How could it be that there was an icicle in Kauai?

A kite, a sand bucket, a mermaid

Even the lost civilization of Atlantis were more likely to be found

Than anything made out of ice,

Except for a refreshing drink, of course,

In this near unbearable summer heat.

I forgotten what I was talking about when I reminded myself

That I was in this

Hellish wasteland people consider “paradise.”

The only thing here that reminds me of “paradise”

Is this lovely bendable straw that came with my

Very,

Very strong Piña Colada.

Oh, right.  The icicle.

Stupid, good for nothing icicle.

Thanks, Obama!

Only in his birth state will you find a bar

Decorated with silly string and frozen water

To make this desert seem more like a winter wonderland.

Thanks, Obama!

It’s not his fault,

But we all need somebody to blame, right?

Unless, you’re one of the unlucky few that has a positive outlook on life,

And to those few,

I’m sorry that you were dealt seven-deuce, off-suit, going all-in with your dignity on the line.

I ordered another magical concoction to damper my mood some more.

The bartender, who’s name-tag read “Abhishek,”

Even though his real name was “Hero,”

Silently made another one of his masterpieces,

Taking his time,

Especially with the tiny, figurine mermaid he added

To make his original work of art even more cliché.

A kitten scurried around my stool,

Scavenging for the crumbs of the cake the obese native left where I am now.

As if this couldn’t get any more enjoyable,

The telephone started to ring, and for no one in particular.

No one answered it.  No one wanted to answer it.

Just put a chalkboard in the room with an upset teacher,

And you’d have your very own torture chamber

Even Robespierre would be proud of.

I had to get out of there, so I sipped my last sips

And ventured back

Out into relentless sun that had probably heard my harsh words

Since it was even more treacherous than before I had entered the chamber.

I lazily walked across the tar pits the tourists called “sand,”

And I came across a young man and his lighthouse.

He paid no attention to my intrusion

And went on with his work.

If you saw him,

You’d say he made a peasant from Henry VIII’s time look fashionable,

But you’d be in awe of how much effort he put into his work.

Equipped with only a can opener, a paint can, and a large brush,

He made his own masterpiece, except this time, there was no cliché.

His two kids were playing in the yard, enjoying the sprinkler they had set up.

The father occasionally took the time to watch them,

And you could sense just how proud he was of himself.

However, from my brilliantly drunk perspective,

All I saw was two stupid kids

Playing in a sprinkler

When the damn Ocean

Was right at their doorstep.