Saturday, March 21, 2015


(This feature is part of TRUCK’s Theme Issue on the List or Catalog Poem. You can go HERE for an Index of the Participating Poets.)


Okay, what will I have to fix now?

Are you fashioning another one?

Are you frying sausages today?

Can’t you know that eating food is not a race?

I’ve come to this conclusion. Romance is what
it appears to be. Dulcolax is what it is.

Why did you, without warning, seize an interest in this?

Is this like an open thing, or…are there qualifications for it?

Diamonds must be fun to find.

Your lips, I’d say they were chewy.

Tatts are today what I.D. bracelets were back then.

I wish rain dances worked for sure.

Is that what you need? A lot more praise?

The sooner you get to do your stuff, the less intrusive
I am at you. Do you know that?

Do you know what?

We all know the day equals value.

Could you make any more noise?

Excuse me, are you going to eat? You get carried
away, don’t you?

Do I have any more checks?
Where would my checks be?

That’s a lie on a half-shell.

Like Julius Caesar wearing the gold leaf laurel
around his head, a laurel normally reserved for conquering
men of Roman wars, to hide his receding hairline.
I am disappointed in Julius about this.

Do it for me just this one day, okay? Do it
a single day.  

Vainglorious. That must be me feeling fabulous about my vanity.

Asked and answered.

Can you turn up the T.V. a bit?
Can I hear the show? Is that possible?

It ruins in the family. Fact.

Another one. Trace amounts of gold lie in
human hair shafts.

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