Kilgore Trout was Here.

I want to cry ‘cause I never knew him
And maybe I read a few of his books
And thought myself clever for having done so
Maybe I spoke about him at parties
And in doing so
Looked smarter to the people I wanted to impress
But I still want to cry
Because maybe I did understand some of his books
Maybe I laughed out loud once or twice
And had wished that there were other people around me
So that they could ask me what was so funny
And I’d tell them that he just described the
Length and girth of the penis of his main character
And they’d look at me quizzically
And I’d be smug with the knowledge that I was better than them
Because I understood it perfectly
And I’m still crying
I’m sad and that’s not just poetry
I’m sad because maybe they’re still putting
Anna Nicole on the front cover
While they bury this milestone on page 9
Crying because his mother killed herself when he was young
And because he sat in a meat locker while
Dresden burned above
And because he saw the Depression with his own eyes
And he was still funny
And still in love with this planet
And that’s just sad
And I love him still
Because I can’t stop crying
I would liked to have shook his hand
He probably would’ve asked me why