My Pickle
I turned around; my cornichon Had made a big scene. The police Put a cordon around it. My hat Fits snugly, but I am not an important Person. I own and operate a balloon Company. I make good money And when I need more money I borrow it. Take my cornichon For collateral. In a hot air balloon You can easily miss the police Barrier. Barriers are important But so are trees. Inside my hat It says, “hair is your ode.” My hat Is strange and keeps me warm. Money Can buy happiness. It is important To remember that a good cornichon Is imported from France, but police Brutality is bad. A cop in each balloon Is my motto. A cop in each balloon Means no more night sticks. The hat Conceals the head, and every police Officer wears one on his. Money Talks, but I never met a cornichon That could spell. How important Heat is, but how unimportant Good pants are when high in a balloon On a bad date. I brought my cornichon To the zoo. I brought my favorite hat With me. I put all my paper money In my fanny pack, and the police Applauded from below. The police Are notorious applauders. Important People shout. Checks are money You can write on. A good balloon Should float away, but a good hat Should not. I need my cornichon To feel important; I need my balloon To breathe. The police cuffed my hat Today and ate my briny cornichon.
Real Pudding
I am going to the moon. Soon I will ride my hair. I will climb the ladder of my stomach and launch. I will pack sandwiches for all the moon creatures. Thus I will commence my speech. Thus I will moan and bend over. Thus I will bottom out and mend all the fences of the moon. I cannot promise to bring back exotic birds. I cannot promise to rip open a can of pork and beans and find your red rose, the wax rose you crawled up your ear to find. I will not take any mustards with me. I will not stow any condiments in my moon pouch. There are supposed to be cold winds on the moon, cold winds and no deli counters; no deli counters and fierce pumpkin-colored snakes coiled in each crater, coiled like bags of cold copper wire. The lake is only collateral. I am only a small piece of suet. My current shape is a bell. This is why I cannot promise anything more. I am a bell-shaped hunk of seed about to ride my hair to the moon. I am stuck together with honey and advanced technology. People blink when I touch my nose. I am one big engine of hope. There are pumpkin shaped sandwiches around every corner. My current shape is a bell with its metal dinger ripped out. Perhaps you need an answer soon. There is someone knocking at the big oak door. That someone just happens to be the president of Yugoslavia. We are good friends. He financed my adventure with a wink. Personally, I cannot wink; thus I must crawl over the bridge between my clavicle and my dream of space. There is supposed to be danger around every corner. There there now, I am a professional. I am so happy we met on that windy day some people call yesterday. What a raw deal chocolates are when the vacuum of space sucks your pockets down, sucks them down like bellies. I hope there are no starving people in space. They depress me. Technology is so good these days, it is possible to see one grain of rice in someone’s empty stomach while orbiting. I know how to knit. Thus I am packing my darning needles. There are no alpacas on any other planet. This is a breakthrough for suet. The president of Yugoslavia gave me a medal and I accepted it by jumping up and down on my hat. Thus I cannot promise any more radiance. Thus I cannot promise to fill my stomach with golden roses. The mission would not be considered a credible one if I planned to bring hair pins. Hair pins have no place in outer space. President’s orders. I am in a big room of real pudding.
I had no use
A rector banged on my door With a big bag of sunglasses. He said he had lost his post. He said he would make a deal With me. I had come to the door With a brand new baloney sandwich. The mustard had not begun To chill upon the plane of the lunch meat. The rector did not say this much But I understood the sentence of his eye. Some birds were on the feeder Bargaining for position on the rods. I reminded the rector of the passage, Blessed are those who sink into the lawn, And politely I told him no. I had no use for sunglasses. It hadn’t been sunny in days.