Lemon or lime? I don’t know. Sweet or sour? I don’t know. Left or right? I don’t know. Up or down? I don’t know. Inhale or exhale? I don’t know. North pole or south pole? I don’t know. Friend or foe? I don’t know. Yin or yang? I don’t know. Khrushchev or Kennedy? I don’t know. Quisp or Quake? I don’t know. Count Chocula or Frankenberry? I don’t know. Butter or margarine? I don’t know. Ginger or Mary Ann? I don’t know. Ski or snowboard? I don’t know. Rationalism or idealism? I don’t know. Feast or famine? I don’t know. Pepsi or horse pee? I don’t know. Start a new paragraph or not? I don’t know. (It’s my poem, and I’ll cry if I want to).

Dark meat or light? I don’t know. Shave or not? I don’t know. Apple or Windows? I don’t know. Stay or go? I don’t know. Twirl or whirl? I don’t know. Green or grey? I don’t know. Comedy or action flick? I don’t know. Rain or shine? I don’t know. (Her boyfriend’s back, and there’s gonna be trouble.) True or false? I don’t know. Right or wrong? I don’t know. Mile or kilometer? I don’t know. Sounds or silence? I don’t know. Red or white? I don’t know. Checkers or chess? I don’t know. I don’t know.

Hot or cold? I don’t know. Beatles or Stones? I don’t know. Peppermint or spearmint? I don’t know. Gloss or flat? I don’t know. Satin or eggshell? I don’t know. Steamed or fried? I don’t know. (What made you think she’d believe all your lies?) Big Mac or Whopper? I don’t know. Crimson or clover? I don’t know. Gene Hackman or Denzel Washington? I don’t know. Okla or homa? I don’t know. Beaver or Wally? I don’t know. Chief Clifford or McCloud? I don’t know. Flintstones or Jetsons? I don’t know.

Westlaw or LexisNexis? I don’t know. Arsenic or old lace? I don’t know. Running back or murderer? I don’t know. Balsamic or ranch? I don’t know. Dempsey or Ali? I don’t know. (Heyla day-la, her boyfriend’s back.) Fritos or Cheetos? I don’t know. Zig or zag? I don’t know. Fight or switch? I don’t know. Boxers or briefs? I don’t know. L.A. via Mississippi or Omaha? I don’t know. Miami, Florida, or Miami of Ohio? I don’t know. Silver or gold? I don’t know. Heron or crane? I don’t know.

Sticks or rocks? I don’t know. Michael Keaton or Christian Bale? I don’t know. Alligator or crocodile? I don’t know. Bomb Cuba or blockade? I don’t know. FedEx or UPS? I don’t know. Brontosaurus or Apatosaurus? I don’t know. (You’re gonna be sorry you were ever born.) Born to run or not? I don’t know. North Korea or South Korea? I don’t know. Or Marilyn Monroe? I don’t know. CBS or NBC? I don’t know. FBI or CIA? I don’t know. B.B. King or Doris Day? I don’t know. Matt Busby. Dig it.

Head or heart? I don’t know. Is Pluto a planet or not? I don’t know. Dead or alive? I don’t know. Neither does Schrodinger. Or his cat. Good or evil? I don’t know. Devil or angel? I don’t know. Dinosaur Victrola or Buck Owens? I don’t know. Country or western? I don’t know. Tango or salsa? I don’t know. (If I were you, I’d take a permanent vacation.) Army or Navy? I don’t know. Truth or dare? I don’t know. Truth or consequences? I don’t know. Silk pantyhose or Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer? I don’t know. Fish or cut bait? I don’t know.

Parachutes or gas stoves? I don’t know. Chevy or Ford? I don’t know. Cubans or the mafia? I don’t know. Black or African American? I don’t know. I don’t know. Carnivore or herbivore? I don’t know. I don’t know. Fahrenheit or Celsius? I don’t know. Black or with cream? I don’t know. Wham or bam? I don’t know. Sunni or Shiite? I don’t know. Father or son? I don’t know. Or holy ghost? (I am a father and son, but I identify as a holy ghost.) To be or not to be? I don’t know. Is that the question? I don’t know.

But I know a little. I know a little about love. I know I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night. I know scientific notation cannot express how little I care about any of the Kardashians. And I know I hate Pepsi, the Raiders, and Donald Trump with all the hate you can possibly hate something with. In fact, if it is possible to hate something with more hate than that, that is how much I hate Pepsi, the Raiders, and Donald Trump. When I am dead, dead, and gone, there will be one child left in this world to carry on. And he’d better make sure my tombstone says:

Nobody hated Pepsi, the Raiders, and Donald Trump more.

Nobody.

Believe me.