Reagan’s Brain Section

by Frank Walsh

His brain basks like broccoli crowns in bed pan of liquid nitrogen
Sucking up to ultraviolet fluorescent rays like beached jelly- fish but way West Coast

Vacillations and zigzags demand cha- cha from the oscilloscope screen while the wigs
and other personal affects of dear deceased Nancy are scrubbed against the thick
                                                         glass of the bell- jar
excites suspended sentences on the quick and the dead
                                         fizzing like Alka Seltzer traditional or orange flavored?

    Let the school children know ketchup: Reagan’s brain is loose but unarmed!

Reagan’s brain is regular trundled into the walk in freezer where Dick Cheney’s spare hearts are stocked awaiting transplant, hearts plucked from young bucks hunted down
in North Philly, or South Central LA, or the Bronx by Dick’s
                                              musical ice cream trucks the brain thinks it is
                            inspecting the troops and that the cold wire shelving units
are the decks of aircraft carriers and destroyers in the basement of the Alamo.

The brain would like to turn this way and that to avoid paying the piper
committed infractions the battered better business bureau the morning after

the disclosures of Granada, El Salvador, arms for Iran haunt
its no one at home lobes, all the lounge furniture and televisions covered up
with limp and loopy facsimiles of Old Glory sewn together in foreign sweat shops,
          the dust of cocaine and heroine escaping red white and blue folds
                                        like sands from an hour glass.

The short circuit that breaches the right hemisphere and the wrong hemisphere skips
    the Monroe Doctrine louy-     louy over the solid gold Rolls Royce awarded it for         letting Thatcher PMS the Falklands Islands
repressing adolescent memories of the atom bomb one of the British warships carried as the Brain gets wet recollecting the    Iron Lady’s big feet in little ox blood high heels
                            that night they played Mad Cow Disease for soft money.

Reagan’s Brain telephones his silver screen compatriot Bonzo, the chimpanzee,
using stethoscopes and microwave transmitters affixed to the glass wall of a ten gallon
beaker though the monkey has been dead for decades and is only a tape recorder,
                                                            long distance, collect.

Reagan’s Brain breaks wind in Virtual reality and blames the bowling ball
                            the Secret Service Industry
tongue in cheek has propped up on a throne no joke the sex wax is within reach
    and the imperial surf board has California written all over it. Everybody laughs except the bowling ball and the Mexican servants who are illegal but glad the rest
of the body politic has been cremated.

The Brain sometimes has nightmares it is being chased Manhattan by trees
                                                                                        of old growth forests even though it rides an Apache Attack helicopter but the chopper
scurries along the ground on six giant B- movie legs like a wounded mud wasp and     the trees make better time because they’ve got a score to settle.

Every Fourth of July the formaldehyde in which the Brain bobs is spiked with barbiturates
shipped in from a Gaithersburg laboratory that manufactures that top shelf refined Anthrax
for junk mail to make it forget more than is to be expected that the Elder Bush tried to have it assassinated even after the fact in the hospital but screwed up because
                the doctors were incompetent federal employees.

2/29/03