We talked about the great error
that you can live with
and really can’t afford to get.
It’s Thanksgiving there, and besides
we might not have room for the next event
to get the old juices flowing.

A gay avalanche destroyed much of the town.
Please, I thought we were winning.
Set the wolves, I mean the dogs
on her, that is, him.
The stalled investigation proved otherwise.
And give back the taxpayers’ money.
The space program cost too much anyway.

Al and Harry had their moment in the sun.
Oblivion swiftly followed, the universe
playing catch-up, as
it is wont to do. Oh bugger
the attendance record! I see a long line
of attendees waiting, cock in hand.
She thought it was lumbago.
The handwriting on the wainscot pledged otherwise.

All came from today backgrounds.
A fistful of s’mores
put death itself on the agenda
for future discussion.
How does that break down?
Minutes happening . . . I don’t think so.
You stepping all over the sprinkles.