Are all blues existential? Maybe. This termite thinks so.
A Case of the Existential Blues
I feel neglected and rather unimportant,
if I’m going to tell the truth, something
I don’t especially enjoy doing, says the
termite with the mustache and a terminal
case of the existential blues, evidenced
by his less-than-jolly demeanor and the
Blind Lemon Jefferson blaring from tinny
speaker of his ancient, brown turntable,
a gift from his great-grandfather, a termite
of inestimable worth who cast a long shadow
over his progeny and is responsible for the
sad feelings of the termite with the mustache
who at this very moment is considering his
place in the vast, unfeeling, cold cosmos.