The Whole Kit ‘n’ Caboodle

The elite slurp from their goblets, usually something boozy. There’s rarely anything potent enough to get the job done, except through extended periods of hearty imbibing without the dreaded safety net of sustenance. On top of the pile, they must imagine (in their own way) the plight of the lower class as they slur their words. They let loose a torrent of racist generalizations that, in their minds, are truly adequate for depicting the struggle endured by their moral superiors each and every day.

Pelican speeches are slurred by inconvenient liter-sized industry, peppered with indistinguishable pebbles along the insipid shoreline while we dump our oil (whether we like it or not) in the incontinent ocean.

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.

I have a little box of buttery chicken
sitting on the windowsill,
and I’m afraid that the rain
might disrupt its prime state of edibility.

It was eligible just a few minutes ago
when I put it there, steaming
and practically bulging with flavor notes.

But it seems as though the birds in the trees
have discovered their fallen sister
and subsequently called
to their great bird in the sky
for watery vengeance.

And if that lump
looked like a goiter to you,
that’s most likely because
you had too much of that
bad spinach lasagna last night.

I’m not responsible
for any hallucinations
you may or may not have
due to leafy greens.

I thought you’d at least managed
to grow up into a respectable adult
since you last visited me, but
I’ve been wrong in my judgments before.

Peddle the metal
unresponsively–

pile unrequested
bile and homages
to the dank

and stormy pelican hoop danglers.