What are we melting here
when all the cheese
has been stolen anyway?

We need a common enemy,
or at least someone
to complain about

while we try out
new galoshes
in the mucky weather.

As long as our common enemy
has some kind of cheese stash,
I can absolutely get behind

verbal torture, like the kind
they had in the olden days,
the townspeople tossing tomatoes

and ethnic slurs
at the unfortunates
trapped in stocks

right in the middle of town,
the communal clock chiming
9am while the time is actually 8:47.

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