THE LATE, LATE, LATE SHOW
The Man in the Helmet sat in a chair in his
Concrete lair, staring me down with his ovals.
He made incomprehensible mouthings
In the Dead Language, the one spoken by the
People Beyond the Mask.
He crossed his legs and took a puff on a
Cigarette and mouthed ever more rapidly in the
And he laughed at his own jokes and puffed
Ever more rapidly and bid the folks at home
Say hello to his First Guest.
And the Guest, somewhat unexpected, sat down:
A six-armed, winged abomination with eyes
More than hairs on an ape’s arm and a
Face with split-fanged rictus, pulsating
Antennae; the whole of him a sickly flesh
Peach in color.
The Guest Unexpected mouthed in reply,
To the Man in the Helmet,
In the Dead Language,
His witty replies to the witty questions,
So on and so on for the show’s hour slot,
Until the Final Moments when the Man
In the Helmet shared his Final Thought.
The credits rolled, and as they rolled
The Man in the Helmet picked up a shadeless
Lamp, plunged the bulb into his right oval socket,
And the helmet split open!!
The Man in the Helmet was no more,
His true face exposed to the air.
Just a white-haired old man,
Whose show was cancelled!