If Eddie Izzard and Tom Waits <br />Fell in love, it would be in New Jersey <br />Home of the Boy Scouts and one of 36 <br /> <br />States where sodomy is legal <br />Except in Fort Dix and other military <br />Bedrooms. Imagine the Luna Bell <br /> <br />Diner, Eddie in plaid –- humor, <br />A dead giveaway –- Tom fresh <br />From a fight with the Haitian <br /> <br />Attendant on the Garden State <br />Parkway who wouldn’t let him pump <br />His own gas. They’d agree on <br /> <br />Springsteen, order the Thomas Edison <br />Special –- turkey with extra light <br />Mayo and bright, pimento <br /> <br />Filaments. About the future? <br />Eddie wants a flat in Ocean Grove, <br />Tom, a bungalow in Asbury Park, <br /> <br />A short walk to Fish Heads to sing <br />Ballads for folks who still respect <br />The Blues. Ain’t gonna happen. Izzy’s <br /> <br />Busy getting serious, and Tom, well, <br />New Jersey’s just too small for a voice <br />That big. So it’s up to us. Next time <br /> <br />You’re in a diner along route 1 or 9, <br />Consider the resin chandelier, the quarter <br />Jukebox. We’ve got all the music <br /> <br />And light this state can stand. Go ahead: <br />Seduce someone with the one foreign <br />Word you still know how to say.<br /><br />Laura McCullough<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pump-your-own-gas/
