The Day the Mic Didn’t Drop
It just fucking hovered there.
Like three inches off the ground,
it just held fast onto nothing
like an ex boyfriend’s jealousy.
The aspiring juggalo who’d released it
from his grasp simply stood by
confounded, while the haters
he’d thought he was about to slay
felt entirely validated.
All efforts to move the mic
proved fruitless, so the horror-rap show
gradually began to disperse — a few
stuck around to watch the local fire department
try their hand at forcing the beat
but unfortunately their axes
didn’t have the bass.
For years the mic would not move.
It remained hovering in it’s space
three inches off the ground no matter
how dope the dis.
Scientists were called in.
Physicists and theoretical mathematicians.
At one point a botanist
just to see what the fuck
would happen if someone
shook a cactus at it.
None were able to figure out
why this particular mic
refused to drop
or re-rise
or do any goddamn other thing
than just remain
hanging in space
unnecessarily dragging on
the failure of a killer shutdown.
The year is now 13004 A.D.
The Earth is a husk.
Not even bacteria still lives
on this rock
but the mic is still there.
It’s always still there.
No being is left to ponder
for who or what or how
it’s waiting to drop,
but there it is,
three inches off the ground, hovering
and starring infinity in the eye
like the last beat
lingering forever.
