I got the idea for this poem from a sketch that Carlos is working on. The poem would describe the aftermath of said sketch.
We found him over at O’Hare
running up the down escalator
wearing a gigantic salmon suit.
When we took off the headpiece
the guy was sweating like a bear
in the desert, and he was wailing.
Hours later, we got it on the radio—
there actually was another salmon,
waiting around at the wrong terminal.