Ding Dong o' My Heart

What have I become, really,
but a partially bittersweet,
partly misguided half-man/boy
who spends much of his time
overly concerned with lapel
styles and brim widths?
For that matter, how good
the bacon is seems to me
of paramount importance.
And Big Wheels. I want
to know what ever happened
to Big Wheels. I understand
that some of you impoverished
folks around me were forced
to call them Ding Dongs or
some other such nonsense.
But still: where are they now?
And why shouldnšt I be
concerned with the lives of
Ding Dongs? Sure, people
are dying and Išm not really
doing much of anything
about it. Yes, indeed, children
across the world work more
hours than Išm even awake.
True enough, the forces of evil
are still colluding to turn us
all into unthinking automatons.
But Ding Dongs? I clearly
remember enjoying them in
a hospital somewhere when
I was just a boy. And therešs
still a need for them, just as
surely as therešs a need for
love and understanding and
altruism. And endless
truth telling. I must have
become even more than I
could have expected. I know
of no other soul who would
openly espouse a sympathy for
Ding Dongs. But, it just
makes so much sense to me.
I mean, no one else is doing it.
Wherever therešs a gap in
our love, wherever therešs a
hole in our giving, there
lies a hole in our hearts.
If a man can learn to love
a Ding Dong, or a Twinkie,
or even a Pop Tart, why,
just imagine the good that
might one day come to
actual sentient beings.

(2006)