"Suicide Is Painless: The Theme from M.A.S.H.," "A Theory of Road Rage Upon Picturing a Portrait of a Cybertruck," and "Talking Heads"

Suicide Is Painless: The Theme from M.A.S.H.

A situation comedy starring corpsmen
and wounded warriors.
Is this the only thing
on?--he wonders, pointing his remote 
control
at the screen. It’s Sunday, 
and he’s weary. 
He’s tried napping, but can’t sleep. His TV 
only gets three
channels. If he wants to watch, it’s M.A.S.H. or 
it’s infomercials. 
 
Cue the depressing music. Here come 
the helicopters, 
ferrying the wounded and soon-to-be dead. Here come 
the actor-doctors, scrubbing up before surgery. Close up 
on Alan Alda, as he bends over a stretcher. Some nurses 
sprinting clear of mortar fire.
 
He is one
of the tiny percentage 
of  M.A.S.H. viewers 
who has actually tried 
suicide. 
It didn’t work;
it was not funny. 
And it certainly wasn’t 
painless.
 
He remembers the movie version. 
So much better 
than the TV 
spin-off. 
The movie, with Elliott Gould 
and Donald Sutherland. Gallows humor 
at its finest. He read somewhere 
that the director of the M.A.S.H. movie 
wanted a theme song so mawkish, 
it “throws folks for a loop.” 
Like an April Fool’s joke. 
It worked. That awful song, staying 
in the brain 
of the depressive 
far too long. 
Every re-run 
turning up, always on a Sunday. 
Whereby if you don’t have cable, 
they can really stick it 
to you: 
Like infomercials for do-it-yourself
catheters.
 
Like Alan Alda, 
breaking the news to a young 
soldier: I’m sorry son, we had to 
amputate. You’ll never walk again.
 
He turns off 
the TV. 
Time for some reading; and maybe 
some drinking. 
Which won’t make him feel any
better. He knows. Except that now—the sad music 
has turned 
into an image of Loretta Swit. Fatigued 
in her fatigues; yet she seems to want 
to manage a smile for him. She seems 
to want to help him 
feel better...
 
What a sweetheart. He lets her.

 


 

A Theory of Road Rage Upon Picturing a Portrait of a Cybertruck

It’s all planes
and geometry run amok. Don’t mention 
the color—gun
metal doesn’t even get it; dirty silver. 
 
Probably drone-driven, 
but one can’t tell
because of the
 
tint, it’s impervious
to analysis by 
dint of the awful angles, 
some new piece 
for the board game Clue, imagined
by Elon Musk and Prez 47, blooming
into a size impossible to
 
reckon.
 
*
 
I was in a crosswalk, and one was
 
bearing down
 
on me (probably 
drone-driven, it’s just as well)
—I soiled
my jeans and was sick 
to my stomach for weeks.
 
*
 
Somewhere an outlier
waits on you, 
hates on you
 
for the way
 
you change lanes, push 
a shopping cart 
or work over 
a piece of 
fried chicken.
 
No fault, they simply can’t stand 
the sight of you, alright?
 
 
It’s a terrible 
matter of the facts upon this 
 
life.” 
 
Always a choice: Let it 
 
go 
 
or let your own 
 
anger take you
 
 
for a ride.
 
                         *
 
Not surprising they packed a bomb 
into one. 
 
Lit the fuse 
and scurried out 
of Vegas, out of sight.
 
Know them
 
by the wash 
of blackness, windshield sloping 
Space X grille
like two palms pressed
into an Anti Prayer. 
 
It’s hard, but
don’t let them
take you there, into their 
 
Vector of Payback, the nowhere
of violence on parade.
 
Jesus Christ said to love them
back, but oh, Messiah, it’s hard.
Let the waves of mirth break 
upon your breast; the ground will 
quake—and swallow 
that awful thing 
you’ve been
 
picturing  (putrid pewter, 
pick axe-pockmarked-Money Changer 
 
Silver badly in need 
 
of a bath)  Laugh 
 
them down into the Fault Line
that started as 
mistake. Shield
your eyes and wave 
with your boot. 
 
Just step back. Let those horns 
 
toot.
 
Yield.
 
Your light is green, it’s a blessed
 
gift to be alive. Yet merciful
 
God, the thing is 
 
ugly.
 
 
Just drive on, you tell
the monstrosity
in passing.
 
Drive.

 


 

Talking Heads

David Byrne said stop 

making sense 
 
and he meant 
every word a switch
to a new vulcanization,
human balloon animal
stitched into
 
an over-sized suit, 
 
dropping the aura from the floor to 
the loop of the mike: 
His voice a mere 
timbre of helium at three 
in the morning it's mid
afternoon. 
Dig him
on your side of a fence
when the rustlers 
and the hustlers come--
those maladies of mind
and soul--dead Sirius
six-shooting ghost
cowpokes riding saddle
under ten
gallon hat shadows
shouting,
 
Imagine That!
 
Now fear This!
 
be out of town by Five on your
knees straighten right
and fly up. 
 
There is nothing 
but time, and it’s not 
on our side.

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Dennis Mahagin

Dennis Mahagin is a poet, writer, teacher and editor from Washington state. His work has appeared in previous incarnations of Unlikely Stories. Dennis recommends YouthCare.