Quick Bites – WHARVED

A Good Find is Hard to Man

A good man is hard to find, but we mustn’t forget
that oftentimes a good find is hard to man.

——

Petey: Hey Joey, take a look at this while I go to the ice cream store.

Joey: A look at what? That thing?

Petey: The find, yes. Good Joey.
Be right back.

Joey: Why do they always gotta have a man on this find? I guess if it’s a good find like they said, but even so. Who’s gonna swoop in here and try to take this find? Just yoink it and dash off? Yeah right, no way.

*8 attempted robberies later*

Joey: Wow, I guess a good find IS hard to man!

——

And there you have it folks. Simple manpower and relative awareness were once again all it took to prevent the theft of a peachy find, a real keen one. Nyeah, see.

Public or Private

Pudgy pigeons
pluck plinko players
from plaid plundering,
piracy never preferred
over pragmatic pilgrimages
(purchased with privilege
and pursued with primeval
predilections). Predictions
produce practically no pressure
in this prideful pageant, Professor–
public or private.

Society’s Fault

Hello, I’m Barnaman Bailey.
You may remember me
from such mishearings as:
“hey, aren’t you that ‘ ‘scuze me
while I kiss this guy’ guy?”
People always know
I have one of those type of names,
but I haven’t reached the level of notoriety yet
where people just know it for certain.
I blame society.
It’s society’s fault.

Gypsum Goals

Gypsum goals extend past scrupled stallion asparagus, mama.
Jack Kerouac’s First Friend “On the Road” (probably)

Just Fine

Chicken cartridges
bestow great tidings
upon the nevertheless grand
mineral campaign engineers,
even if you choose to ignore them,
just like so many others out there.
What a callous move to make
if you want to get anywhere
in this city council race.
These chicken cartridges
could just be our ticket
to easy street, fella.
Just calm down and
do as I say,
and we’ll be fine.
Just fine.

Never Beat a Gift Egg in the Horse

Never
beat a gift egg
in the horse.

Highly Questionable

Sidling in,
repping their mostly-appointed
(somewhat trifling) hunting knife
bent at just the right juncture
for the victim’s own reckoning
with justice,

the unwell bowie knife salesman
had just a few more destinations
on the booze cruise they’d set out upon
for the sake of at least trying to relocate
that former spark once unquestioned
[but now highly questionable].