Roger Ebert Called this Poem “One of the Funniest Family Adventures Since Citizen Kane”

Ah, finally…
night off from work.
Let’s get down to business, the world is totally overdue
for some me time
some glee time, some tea time, some Aegean Sea time
and maybe, just maybe…
some she time (bow chicka wow wow).
Nothin’ can ruin me, dawg.
“BANG! BANG! BANG!” goes my door, my floor.
The landlord?
No
The overlord?
No
The slumlord?
No
The warlord?
No
Grandpa?
Yes…
Door creaks open, wrinkled hands
creak and slither towards my shoulder,
wrinkled tongue creaks
and slithers out words.
“C’mon sonnyboy! We’re goin to the graveyard.
It’s time I taught you a lesson.”
30-minute ride in grandpa’s smelly jalopy…
I fucking hate that car. I fucking
hate
that
car.
Honestly, what the heck is a nine-track player?
Honestly, what the heck is a Victrola? Who is this
Victor guy anyway?
I hate grandpa’s car, I hope he
doesn’t leave it to me in his will.
I swear, everything that’s wrong with the world
is grandpa’s car.
Finally, never thought I’d be so happy to see
a graveyard, a cemetery, a boneyard
a necropolis…
A rotting tombstone sits…
Etchings bear a name…
Grandpa, who is Slam Wilson,
born 1885, died 2010?
“Me…” squeals grandpa…
He thrusts
his chiseled bony wrinkle-ridden hands
deep into the tombstone earth.
Grandpa shrieks! He
reverse-thrusts
his hands!
Out of the ground
come grandpa hands filled with gold and (grandpa’s?) bones!
Silence…
Can we go home now grandpa?
“No…
We’re going to your uncle Louie’s house.”
Fuck. I hate Life with Louie