A Brief Flicker


I leapt at the chance
to have my name engraved
on my very own garbage can.
Now when my trash
is picked up, it will have
an identity and a purpose.

Sure, it will just end up
in a landfill, but
an observant trash collector
will get the chance
to concoct a story
surrounding that refuse,
giving it a brief flicker
of immortality.

A Bit of a Challenge


We all needn’t shatter our mouths
on such unworkable jawbreakers,
there’s no cause for that activity.
I’m afraid of losing my teeth,
so what we shall do is clear.

We’ll scrap all that candy
and get some beef jerky,
as we still want a bit of a challenge.

Before We Get Bored


We launched the remnants
of a poplar tree
through the air
and watched it come down
with a smack.

There’s something so satisfying
about flinging logs
in random directions
and watching passers-by
scratch their heads in amusement.

Next time we’ll make
papier mâché planes
and float them over the lake
until they fall
and get soaked through,
an exercise that will last
maybe thirty seconds
before we get bored
and break out the beers.

The Previous Tenant


The previous tenant
didn’t paint the walls
before leaving.

You can see the outlines
of picture frames, hung
before the paint
had a chance
to dry properly.

This person is always
hurrying here and there,
and can presently be found
lunging at trees in the park,
playing a game of chicken
they can never win.

Mom and Pop Places


Marty has a look on his face
that indicates
his intimate knowledge
of the price of limes
at his corner bodega,
but he won’t tell anyone.

He wants people to see
for themselves
while visiting the store
and perusing the produce.

Marty has always
been a proponent
of mom and pop places,
and his face
gives away that sentiment.

A String


A string
with the personality of a human
strikes under the weather,
through the phases of life
that pull at its core.

Elegantly twirling
through stories of its origin,
it plucks and harmonizes with itself
in a grand gesture of goodwill.

Nothing is finite
for this string, it sees
existence as a stroke of light
spread across its length.

Fine Potpourri


Peter put the posies in a paper bag and shook them until the petals started to come off. He heard about this technique on daytime television as a way to accelerate the acquisition of fine potpourri for his bathroom, but he didn’t feel like following up with anything else. His brand of potpourri ended up being a bowl of wilting posey petals and nothing else. No pinecones, no cinnamon sticks, nothing.

Little Did She Know


She agreed to kiss him
under the condition
that they both drink
fifteen ounces of fresh water first.

Little did she know
that water would only
aggravate bad breath conditions
and make the kiss a miserable experience.

Local Experts


Mississippi and Misterssippi
found a baby
in their breadbox one morning.
Nobody could tell them
how it got there.

Local experts thought
it could have been smuggled in,
but why the breadbox of all places?
Everyone was stumped on that.

A Damn Shame


He preferred his brains roasted
with a glass of fine vouvray
every evening at seven sharp.
No later, no sooner, or
he wouldn’t know when to eat.
He had an idea, but only that,
at mealtime he needed a bell
to be rung and rung again.
But yesterday Denis (the man
who rings the bell) had to
pick up his kid from the hospital
and abandoned his post.
There were no bells.
The whole meal was ruined.
It was a damn shame.

Stuck in Bed


It’s a skinny shame
that our streusel’s stuck
in bed. There’s no chance
of getting it out now,
no jaws of life will suffice.

Every pore of that
Egyptian cotton
is contaminated,
and you’re kidding yourself
if you think your sheets
will ever be the same.

Scrambled Egg Connotations


It starts with a whip and a flip.
You can’t miss any of those
scrambled egg connotations,
flung through the kitchen window
onto an innocent bystander’s curly locks.

If you have a notion
to be flip about silky consistency
and yolk dispersal, by all means,
do so on your own time.
There’s a man out there
who’ll need to take a second shower today
because of your negligence.

Sink the Ship


There have to be
more ways to sink a ship
than by pelting it
with thousands of turtle shells,
but I can’t think of any.

I mean, we can pelt it
with live armadillos
or unripe durians
to achieve a similar effect,
but why are we trying
to sink the ship anyway?

Aren’t there people aboard?
If it was empty, devoid of life,
I’d say go ahead, pelt away.
But you just know there’s a crew
on board, and do they deserve
a pelting? Maybe a few of them,
but it’s unfair to sink the ship
just because of a few bad apples.

Let’s hold off
on collecting those turtle shells,
the turtles will make
better use of them anyway.

Scream at the Rhythm


Screaming at the rhythm
does a lot of good.
It can tie knots
where none had previously existed,
taking twine to task
and sneaking compliments
under the covers,
where our mothers would never suspect.

So scream at the rhythm
as though you lost a game of chess
against yourself, never once stagnating
or pointing an unruly finger to the sky.

You’re better than that,
you don’t need excuses this morning
or any other time.
You need to split your psyche
into fragments and blink
like nobody’s watching.

No Qualms Whatsoever


It doesn’t matter how the framed reference goes about its day, we have no qualms whatsoever. Any encyclopedia entry stuck up on the wall can illuminate a page’s worth of facts about the natural world, and there’s no way we’re taking that for granted. The planets are in orbit, the rabbits are procreating, the pole beans are shooting tendrils, the rest of the civilized world sticks its neck out for these poor voluminous library dwellers.