Thursday, June 5, 2014

Lemonade's Last Stand


Chillaxing on the border between morbid curiosity and lexicographical
          ripeness,
Our intention is to create a mixed-use facility: in one corner, for kids, a little
          tooth-sharpening area;
In the solarium, a fountain of boiling butter (let your imagination wander). For
          the sake of historical accuracy,
History teachers have been fed to wild fauna. The president has been notified

And winterized. Seagulls are returning to the rodeos they'd abandoned. (Their
          costumes
Are almost too funny.) Having lived for years under the shadow of this cryptic
          ideogram
Meant to convey something like "horny cops on lookout for runaway
          greenhouse effects,"
I find it helpful to imagine myself the curator of a vast, open-air museum of
          noble but discarded sentiments.

Less civic-minded folk will no doubt balk at my escutcheon of pretense, but
          that's where
You, the reader, come in, wearing your doomsday best. The fact you're reading
          this at all is proof
I'm alive and going about the dark hebdomadal business of facial-hair care, quite
          against my will.
If you've ever occupied an ounce of daylight, you know what I mean, and why.
          Scary times, and yet

The rain is wet and making do with much élan, in spite of growing doubts about
          its motives.
Dare we contemplate another Muscatine misadventure, or shall we disgruntle
          the lullaby of spring
We used to know by heart and challenge all comers? I'm not your maid, nor your
          mentor,
But I could use some shut-eye before the next exquisite summer decides to
          befall.