If this stinkin’ apartment loses all its things
to a flood or a feckin’ foreclosure,
we’ll all have to come out for one last hoorah
in a toast to the memories stored there.
Rather than sit down and make a long list
of extraordinary memory figments,
I’ll bust the front door down with cannonballs,
dragonflies and one very insecure rhino.
We can’t trust our city to get the job done,
that blind faith is ludicrous, people.
Please get out your pickaxe and uncage your birds
for a night we might never forget.