Around the time they decided dandruff is the result
of being a very bad person, me and Jill and several locals
from the Horse and Cow Separation and Packaging Unit
packed up and rolled out. Since then, it’s been really
difficult to earn a living and I wish we would have
stayed where we know people care about us.
Peggy is tapping me on the arm. Go ahead, Peggy.
He doesn’t understand that they would have eaten
our very brains, which I just couldn’t have,
I’m just not that resilient. Peggy, I think,
is mis-under-over-estimating things here.
The rest of this poem concerns the wild light
in the far West, those who found gold,
various people who have died extraordinary
deaths on the way to major life improvements,
and ends with a plea for Starbucks to open a store
in every home in America. We can’t all afford
luxury town cars, you know. Hello?
