I surprised my self with the shopping cart
Just meals beyond the ice cream
Two folds of ham in a diner jacket appeared
To hold a soda, supplication to the gourds,
Did I say gourds, the holy crappers
Carrying dishrags to wipe the mouths
Of fallen leaves, each appropriate stain
And the new sky of tree branches bares
A butt tattoo to the new sunset, today’s
Fair chance of gleaming. The new series
Of lung gurgles I’ve championed really
Are turning out to be bad tenants.
So much so I’ve hefted brand names
On the carpet I’m weaving to cover it all.
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