Today it’s chickens,
ducks and pigeons,
but tonight we’ll
feast on famine,
the familial. I don’t
speak harsh on An
sel, but neither does
the thunder. OOPS!
Did the thunder just
speak(?). . .(?). . . T
hen, after fourteen
chops of pork (not
hen) we were off
to see the mount
and. And what
a true oracle.
But wait (slash/
slash)! Halfway
there we’ve for
gotten our bills—
our auto-mobiles
(on planets such
as Mars). Aw,
the nerd wars!
So it’s a blatant
turnaround that
won’t get us there
any longer. In our
stead, we go no
more. Is that all,
folks? Sing, close
all of your eyes,
and cling to one
another like in
a happy dream.
But the big bad
box wouldn’t
even budge. It
just stood there
all unopened.
