Friday, May 12, 2017


Putting old eggs out to pasture

Eh, what? HD asked,
trumpet stuck in ear;
he seemed bewildered,
as if imagining
toast, crisp rashers,
bygone beauties on the side,
sunny sides up,
draperies glistening
in the morning sun.

He's off his game, Benedict
whispered—then slipped
back into his shell.
We have safe places
set aside to effectuate
our absolution,
or so I believe,
slapping buttermilk disks
refracturing the Royal fast.

This must be some kind of mis-
began the soft-boiled prevarication
-communication, your lingo
c a b e
s r m l d
came the reply,
too easy,
over the good-egg
network. It's down
to this:

HD's insurance ran out
just when doctors were about to try
a revolutionary
new glue.

Star*line, 2011

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