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.
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.
If you think bribing an official
with foodstuffs is something
you’d like to attempt,
I’ll have no part in it.
You know that greasing
the wheels of justice
can lead to a runaway
freight train, don’t you?
I brought the mayor
a basket of biscuits
one time, only to see his mouth
snarl up in a frown (he’s
allergic to buttermilk, turns out).
He has such a great voice.
I remember when I could hear him
practicing his craft in Juilliard’s
private studio space
like he owned the place
(and some day he just might).
He has a lovely raspy tone
with nasal notes reminiscent
of the greatest orators we’ve come
to adore through history.
No specific examples spring to mind,
which just goes to prove
that this is truly
a once-in-a-generation talent
we’re witnessing here.
Just because a person looks like me doesn’t mean that they make chocolate the way I do. This is serious business here, I can’t have false chocolatiers parading around my territory unless they’re willing to fight for what they love. Usually they fold right when I confront them about their lack of true chocolate admiration, but every once in a while I get a sucker who decides it’s worth their time to embarrass themselves in front of the whole neighborhood as I make the perfect fondant right under their nose. I never let those losers sample my creations.
I’ll heave a hefty bag at the situation
and tell my dentist that I really don’t want
anything to do with these Fonzie imitators anymore.
They’re all so obsessed with having
a good time and donning leather jackets
that I’m just getting sick of it all!
How tired a custom is this, where you’re reduced
to spouting cliché catchphrases at gunpoint?
Remember when you took that loan from the mafia,
and they told you that they would be expecting
a favor in return some day? Well, your bell’s been rung,
buddy. All you can do now is pray that you get
in touch with Henry Winkler, for the purpose of
delivering a faithful Fonz to your brutal overlords.
I mean, otherwise, they might end up breaking
your fingers and toes. I wouldn’t consider that
situation to be 100% ideal, would you?
WHARVED 