I didn't write this, but God, how I love it. The poem is from a 1958 film called High School Confidential (which I have not seen because I have been unable to track down a copy, physical or digital), and has a debatable title. Check out the video of its recitation here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QzywcEgjlhw.
Tomorrow is a Drag, Man
My old man was a bread stasher all his life
He never got fast
He wound up with a used car
A 17-inch screen
And arthritis
Tomorrow is a drag, man
Tomorrow is a king-sized bust
They cry, “Put down pot; don’t think a lot.”
For what?
Time? How much and what to do with it?
Sleep, man, and you might wake up
Digging the whole human race
Giving itself three days to get out
Tomorrow is a drag, Pops
The future is a flake
I had a canary who couldn’t sing
I had a cat that let me share my pad with her
I bought a dog that killed the cat that ate the canary
What is truth?
I had an uncle with an Ivy League heart
He had life with a belt in the back
He had a button-down brain
Wind-up, a belt in the mouth
And a button-down lip
We cough blood on this earth
Now there’s a race for space
We can cough blood on the moon soon
Tomorrow is Dragsville, cats
Tomorrow is a king-sized drag
Tool a fast shore, swing with a gassy chick
Turn on to a thousand joys
Smile on what happened
Or check what’s going to happen
You’ll miss what’s happening
Turn your eyes inside and dig the vacuum
Tomorrow?
Drag
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