Finding Gene
finding gene
by pat a physics
Where did Gene Wilder go? Is he in a suburban neighborhood making cocktails and flirting with the Golden Girls? I miss him. He is a beacon of truth. Only through his comedy and popular dramatic roles could I understand what was real. He’s probably sanding a canoe in the middle of a remote island. Maybe he is working on a secret film about a wind tunnel that is able to generate enough power to level that suburban neighborhood that I was asking about. I can see him piloting a Harrier around the compound- freaking everybody out. What about San Luis De Capisco? Maybe he is there? No, no, don’t make some stupid guess like he’s working in a candy store. I don’t want to hear your theories about some mascot costume that he’s wearing. Save it. I’m looking in the right direction. It was something quixotic, but not altogether impractical. At any rate, my search goes on for Gene Wilder, our lost patron saint.
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I am relieved to discover that I am not alone in my pain. Ours is a shared madness named The Darkness of Gene Wilder’s Absence. I cannot be forced to divulge his whereabouts, but the offhand “piloting a Harrier” comment indicates the poet knows more than he claims.
Had me on the edge of my dane-designed dynamic seating. The wonder of it fit ergonomically in my left-brain cup-holders. Gene’s probably wandering around southern California, still trailing after Harrison Ford’s tokhes. Maybe his funny expression died with Ms. Rosanna Anna Dana. He might be in China sipping stem cells to get his funny gene reinserted behind his fizzled telomeres.
Keep looking. Me too.