A Fancier Labrador Pasta
Maurice Oliver
He jogs twice around my lapel and is exhausted.
What keeps me, Santa Ann? Well, for one thing, I
always wear interchangeable light switches. I have
never had a problem making exits languidly. Plus,
there is a flower shop in my garbage disposal and
fifteen grains mixed into my 15 minutes ago. Like
gum wrappers. More labrador pasta. Jalopies that
bulldoze off while sitting in the La-Z-Boy. My book
of truth is Nidigay wearing a shower curtain. Or
bullets joy-riding on a ferris wheel. Either way, soup
is my lap dancer, dreaming that everyone forgot my
birthday. On a bed of nails said the custom made
noose. And if all else fails, just try to remember to
rear-end the next accordion note, then make your
public service announcement before the closing hymn.
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