Could Always be Worse

I’m colorful, except for my black and white thinking. I have no idea why night is so dark. You’d think it would be more careful. Yesterday evening, I dreamt of you in broad daylight. Thank goodness for the interchangeable parts, although I wouldn’t dream of changing a thing. So far, no word from the robots or any of the other villagers, those charlatans. Fortunately, there’s no cause for optimism. They think they’re so smart. Sure, they can do the Watusi and they’re great kissers, but talk, talk, talk. It never ends. And they skipped out on last month’s rent. As soon as I become un-incarcerated, I’m going to make my bed by sleeping in it. At Uncle Roscoe’s wake, next weekend, I’ll be the half-life of the party. I’ll dazzle them with my striped socks and checked suspenders, my upbeat personality and low-life weltanschauung. Everybody’ll think, Is that guy a member of the Secret Society of Lighting Strike Survivors or has he just returned from a staycation on the shady side of the Sun? Of course, everybody knows that, like a karaoke haircut or a hush-hush nuclear accident, no matter how bad things seem now, they could always be worse.