please bear this in mind
while petting my supine cat:
he’s not for eating
our faces were red
when the stern censure came down
from the Navajos
his fond memories
of that untamed, yeasty minx
eclipsed the herpes
armed with intellect
I’ll cudgel you with knowledge
or this table leg
I bought you a yacht
so what’s all this foofaraw
about back taxes?
imprecated by
a sullen Pat Robertson
Tina was unphased
his best dreams found him
swallowed up by the eddies
in a grand spittoon
in its final month
Dinah’s book club was sundered
by Ayn Rand herself
the interregnum
between their hall monitors
was uneventful
oblivious to
Wimbledon’s punctilios
Steve wore body paint
as we lie longing
for a favonian breeze
the seagulls take aim
his exegesis
of Puff the Magic Dragon
earned him detention
some opponents of
my nascent “daycare service”
didn’t like my van