Why should a couch matter
when all we need to do
is unearth the twelfth installment
of a well-read publication
from before the dawn of the internet?
Sitting is the last thing
we should be contemplating.
Even contemplating
the idea of contemplating sitting
is boring as all get-out.
A fleeting expanse of dandelions
doesn’t know it’s considered
an urban nuisance, a weed factory
in the heart of civilization.
It rolls through grass
and paints a yellow picture
of the past landscape, now foreign.
What we need
is some kind of
feather boa situation, where
donning such a garment
would be considered
a boost to morale
in this organization,
especially since
we’re so concerned
with increasing sales
of pinecone-inspired trinkets
to be displayed
prominently in the home.
Turgid turtles
take their time
trying to tell
tall tales,
traipsing through
tricky topics.
I marked my mattress
on both sides,
heads and tails.
I know with 100% certainty
which side will come up
when I flip it,
rendering probability
a thing of the past.
When you behold
the average sidewalk banana,
you wonder if it’ll bounce
when you throw it against the ground.
But you dare not touch the fruit;
who knows where it’s been?
If you were braver,
you’d pick it up and eat it.
Do these people even care that their sole reason for existence is to make sandwiches for their so-called benevolent overlords? I wonder if an impartial observer has ever mentioned this to them, to make them think of alternatives for living. For example, instead of making sandwiches, they could be making wind chimes or clay vases. There are so many other things in this universe, I can’t believe sandwiches are the be-all end-all. I get it, sandwiches are nice and loaded with value in the form of meats, cheeses and vegetables (even fruit the way some of these weirdos make them), and the action of composing a complete sandwich must have some pleasure associated with it. I don’t want to be the bad guy, I’ll keep my mouth shut and even make a few sandwiches of my own to blend in. I just can’t believe that they blindly burn up their finished products in the name of religious sacrifice. I’ve seen some messed up dogma in my time, but this takes the cake.
WHARVED 