Does no one remember
The Blob,
that gelatinous mass
blessed with locomotion
well on its way
to consuming
the population
of Pennsylvania
until Steve McQueen and his band
of Brylcreemed clichés
saved civilization?
How soon we forget
how the feds dropped it,
freeze dried to submission,
into the Arctic ice
to, in theory, sleep it off
for eternity.
But now, in spite of the alarms of
punctured ozone, melting ice caps,
and climate change,
we have forgotten
there’s a giant glob
of homicidal Jello
slowly awakening from
its 60 year slumber.
So I scan society
looking for a modern misunderstood subset
that can suck up the savvy
to save us
Because Steve McQueen
with his icy blue cool is long gone,
and there’s no one left in Hollywood
that's hip enough
to rescue us
again.


This poem first appeared in Edison Literary Review.
Used here with the author’s permission.