051217

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

griddle-ward,

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