But back to the matter at hand:
we must find a way to figure out
the internal mechanism
that allows us to be creative
for longer than four seconds at a time!
Five seconds would be an improvement,
though we will certainly settle
for four and a half if necessary.
Wherever the timpani comes from,
we must remember that importers
would kill to get their hands
on our instruments. Never
turn your back for one second,
and you must remember
that super heroes can be real
(if the price is right).
Bedlam is what they call
the chicken wing syndrome
that’s been going around
these parts these days
with these kids
and these chicken bones
in the back yards
of their collective courtyards,
sold into poverty by dogs
who simply refused
not to dig up holes
where the gardenias
should have been growing.
Standing here in the rain
is going to be a tough assignment,
especially since it’s a Tuesday.
I don’t know what Tuesday
really has to do with it,
but I know that the sound you make
on a Tuesday morning – over coffee,
not without buttered scones – really
irks me. Typically 8:46am, but
sometimes 9:15. It’s as though
your internal clock were tuned to an
interstellar annoyance-based alarm system,
designed specifically to take advantage
of my obsessive tendencies.
A missile
jabbed its fist
into the socket
of an asymmetrical
potato boat machine,
causing untold tiers
of military destruction
to squander our hard-
earned resources
on a global scale.
The price of iron
will increase
by about 34% tomorrow,
insiders have been warned.
Something about the vicar
doesn’t inspire much confidence
in me, especially when
I’m trying to keep my balance
on this five-foot stool.
Who thought to make
a piece of furniture
so unwieldy? Why did I buy it
in the first place?
Hippo ate a dipper
of little stellar status
just this afternoon,
swishing his brandy
in preparation
for a siesta
to last seven hours
or six and a half
if he wants
to stop by the bank
before closing time.
WHARVED 