with help from shitguyfierisays.tumblr.com
Like a manhole cover in Flavortown. Like
a speedbump in Flavortown. Like a hot-dog
lasso on the ranch in Flavortown. Like a giant
play-doh machine in Flavortown. Like a blackjack
dealer at the Flavortown casino. Like a hot tub
in Flavortown. I want to be the mayor
of Flavortown. A conductor on the train
going to Flavortown. The driver on the bus
going to Flavortown. A big hamburger might
be the steering wheel on the bus that’s going
to Flavortown. That’s in the tank that fuels the bus
that’s going to Flavortown. Hitting the road
in search of Flavortown has been quite a trip.
Four or five bites into this and I’m pulling in
to the depot of Flavortown. You can find that
dictionary in the Flavortown library. What would
be the airline of Flavortown? Sausage Airlines?
The first discovered culinary cave of Flavortown
A lightning bolt of an idea in Flavortown. Mining
for food in Flavortown river. I feel like I’m gonna
have surgery here at Flavortown memorial. I'm
a citizen of Flavortown, a city council member
of Flavortown. Of course, there's no Flavortown —
unless you believe in it.
Danny Caine is the author of the poetry collections Continental Breakfast (Mason Jar Press 2019) and El Dorado Freddy’s (collaboration with Tara Wray, Belt Publishing 2020) and the chapbook Uncle Harold’s Maxwell House Haggadah (Etchings Press 2017). His poetry has appeared in Barrelhouse, New Ohio Review, Hobart, DIAGRAM, and other places. He hails from Cleveland, Ohio and lives in Lawrence, Kansas, were he owns the Raven Book Store. More at dannycaine.com.