the flavor parade
clunking titans chatter
in the first snow
of this nuclear winter --
how should I hold my hands?
I never know
& tomorrow's picture day.
I love those little black plastic
Frank Sinatra combs they hand out.
those things might be truly universal.
lumbering lurches bump heads
& rub elbows with the shining stars --
I ate that rice, white as it was.
I didn't mean to spliff
your eyes out, Bandit.
here, gnaw on this rock
until Doc gets back
w/ the lobsters.
by J.D. Nelson | Poetry Home | Next