Rag-time

The Friday night-late shopper
overlooked little imaginings,

the limp, the weight of it,
the coming commute

as an injured part of my heart.

Tom is a deaf door, squealin’
elfin exclamations inside his gear.

A flower Saint Therese gave,
a screech about Elvis,

petaling plasticine wares.

Electric, shook quackery
always froth at spout.

Quotes quoted, birdfood mal-
appropriated.

He, El, did this routine discovery

under cover, of leather,
and shade.

Tenzen often blesses
thanksgiving

turkeys, and in innocence
of seeing a Jew.

Tenzen is weary
of malignant Chinese

tracking, so we’ll all be viewed
to be(animal).