Cougar WebWorks

Who Put the Bop in the Bop Shu Wop?

by Richard Stevenson

What happened to the Neanderthals
that got us lurkin' in shoppin' malls?

What stifled his great grunts and groans
and got Cro-Magnon shaping stones?

Did the ol' lady beg for copper?
Who put that thought in her hopper?

Who messed with Mesopotamian minds
to get them counting sheep and hinds?

Who gave them so much to say
that they stamped thoughts into clay?

Who whispered in Egyptian ears
to make them top dogs all those years?

And how did they move eight ton blocks?
With palm tree logs? Rope and ox?

As if! Whoops, flop, bring the mop -
Who put the bop in the bop shu wop?

Folks just don't evolve that fast,
and who those days made things to last?

Like they were totally into Math
and ciphered each and every path -

Not! Where'd they get the technologies?
I'll tell you straight: from E.T.s!

The E.T.s used lasers to cut those stones,
and didn't do it to hide no bones!

They put the Ram in the ram-a-lam-a-ding-dong;
form-fitted the blocks, our genes, the whole she-bong!

Made Adam and Eve, the Garden, the Snake,
Mary, Jesus, and the whole clam bake!

Tiahuanaco, Stonehenge: the first computers
that turned us all into chic commuters.

They put the Bomp in the Bomp Ba Bomp,
gave us religion, the devil, the pomp;

put the dit in the dit, dit, dit, dit-da
that gave us cities, Wall Street, the Maidenform bra;

gave us the moon, the planets, the stars,
so we'd set our sights on Venus and Mars.

But what have we done with their retainers?
Shot the wad. Botched their "containers."

So now we're all Neanderthals
walkin' slack-jawed in shoppin' malls.

Lookin' for Mr. Goodwrench to keep us tight:
golems in Spandex, awaitin' our flight.

So come on, you saucer folk, sing us a song;
give us the ditty of Elephop 'n' ol' Elephong.

We've been waitin' too long to see God's face.
Drop the masks now; take us to space!

We're ready, baby; got tickets to punch!
Give us a call, and we'll do lunch!

( first appeared in the Australian e-zine 3rd Muse )

---

The Author
Richard Stevenson was born on this planet 48 years ago, though he's still waiting to be beamed aboard a saucer bound for zeti reticuli and the outer meninges. He is the author of twelve previous collections, including, most recently, _A Murder of Crows: New & Selected Poems_ ( Black Moss Press, 1998 ), _Nothing Definite Yeti_ ( YA verse, Ekstasis Editions, 1999 ), and _Live Evil: A Homage to Miles Davis_ Thistledown Press, 2000 ). He teaches, runs a reading series, and occasionally performs his work with the jazz-poetry troupe _Naked Ear_ and YA verse/ jazz -rock group Sasquatch in clubs and at various festivals and schools in Southern Alberta, and has called Lethbridge ( wear the fox hat!) home for the past fifteen years. No one's punched his ticket yet, but he remains hopeful that there is intelligent life "out there."