Like chickens amid the throng
before the chopping board, we're
waiting for the dreaded snicker snack
of old age to thwap us on the back.
Eulalia Petronella Mallard thinks
"Owls are foul," before catching a ghost
of a chance, with a click and a clack on the coast
where lions lapped at the llamas and the bluebloods of Boston,
languishing idly on the sofa, speak in clips
of outdated slang. "Oh, snap!"
There're cats in the attic--should we join
them or clip their manes? The snakes amid the haystacks touch
fire--and are instantly ground to mulch.

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws