A man in a Pink Floyd shirt jumped over a sycamore tree.
He did not jump over a sycamore tree.
He flew over a castle. He did not fly over a castle.
He swam in a volcano. He did not swim in a volcano.
He drove to the circus. He did not drive to the circus.
He laughed at a grizzly bear. He did not laugh at a grizzly bear.
He juggled a dagger. He did not juggle a dagger.
He ate all the cake. He did not eat all the cake.
Yes. Yes, he did.
A man in a Pink Floyd shirt dug a giant hole in his backyard. Someone had told him to go to hell earlier that day. Assuming hell to be beneath the soil, the man in a Pink Floyd shirt picked up a shovel, and got to work. The person who told him to go to hell was a professional juggler. He juggled axes, bowling pins, and soccer balls. The man in a Pink Floyd shirt had accidentally bumped into him causing him to drop his soccer balls. That’s when he told him to go to hell. The man in a Pink Floyd shirt dug and dug. He told himself when he got to hell, he would fistfight Lucifer. He didn’t much like his chances against Lucifer, but he thought it a noble endeavor. Finally, at midnight, the man in a Pink Floyd shirt dropped his shovel from fatigue, and fell asleep inside the hole. When he woke up the next day, he no longer wanted to dig a hole to hell. He just wanted black coffee. Black coffee with toast and eggs. Bon appétit, man in a Pink Floyd shirt.
Jose Hernandez Diaz is a 2017 NEA Poetry Fellow. He is from Southern California. His work appears in Bat City Review, Bennington Review, The Cincinnati Review, Green Mountains Review, Huizache, The Nation, New American Writing, North American Review, Poetry Northwest, The Progressive, Witness, and in the Best American Nonrequired Reading anthology.