WHARVED

Earmarks of Ethics

Let them battle on
like beetles in a bottle
made of black boron brisket basters,

see if I care.
I’ll be too busy
lifting a lark from grand larceny

at the local
law-enforcement library,
settling into books about justice

and the earmarks
of ethics on an enlightened society.
Just take, for instance, the calm songbird

known as the
male gavel finch. This master
of manipulation picks up a stick in its beak

and slams it
against the trunk of a tree,
making vibrations imperceptible by humans,

but irresistible
to the finicky female.
One well-placed strike may be all it takes.

I won’t steer you
in any specific direction
until you’ve actually tried my cereal.

Just two doses a day
can ward off severe depression,
as evidenced by my friend Smoky over here.

He used to be
an average melancholic bear, but
after an all-cereal regimen, he was bouncing

off the walls
all the time. Granted,
an all-cereal diet will be high in sugar,

but you mustn’t discount
the great benefits just because
of a little weight gain and jitteriness.

Effects of this product
have not been extensively documented
on human subjects, but there is a glut of research

as it pertains
to the treatment of large woodland
mammals (bears, quadrupeds, yetis, etc.).

Inheriting the winds
of travel – to many arenas,
more than our fair share –
breathes legacies
into stagnant patches
of ordinary air.

The threat comes
from threading gusts
by the needle’s edge
just long enough
to get a proper bearing.

We will soar overseas
if our math is correct,
and don’t ask
what will happen
if it isn’t.

We have to bring with us
a time that smells like
the grand representation
of polychromatic measures

for any and all underachieving
squirrel mongers we’ve come
to know and love. Some things

are better left unexplained
by our grand cynics, and I’ll
need you to take the kids
for a walk before bedtime.

If you could scrape a few
dollars together to get
some ice cream, that would go

a long way toward pleasing
our benevolent overlords
(the Hendersons).

Effervescent nuptials
stream out of our mouths
like we’ve been meaning
to speak them for some time.

Only we will know that we’re
actually improvising these words
according to the way we’ve been trained
at the Royal Academy of the Surprising.

Is there anything else
that can prove how suited
we are for one another?

Perhaps our sexual chemistry
would be a subtle hint, but
we shouldn’t go flaunting that around
in front of our poor single friends.

Plot out a twisting path
through the garden, we’ll need
something creative for the scavenger hunt.

A rubber ducky with buckteeth
will be the ultimate prize (just think of
the looks on the searchers’ faces when we unveil it).

Six hours of sheer sleuthing bliss
will put a beautiful cap on the day,
followed by some stiff coffee and a video replay booth

for our individual enjoyment.
Who will be represented the most
on our blooper reel? I’m gunning for Mrs. Teasdale,

but we can never be too sure.

It’s laughable how many
times I’ve had to warn
our prospector friends
about the deaths of local canaries.

It seems like at least
three times a week
is the going rate around here,
and they still haven’t picked up the hint.

They just keep spelunking
into those mine shafts as though
they have nothing to lose.
Honestly, who values shiny rocks that much?

You’re going to lose your life
on the hunch that you could
strike it rich? I’d rather
take my chances in an electrical storm.