on cheery greeting cards that should
have stayed home in primeval forests.
On this ordinary – uncivil, murderous –
day I shall clip toenails, my own.
Clip, clip, lop. Before asking,
What is the meaning of it all?
ask my big toe if there is any meaning.
Finely ground rule: No response = No.
Having settled that, could one walk
along the beach while eating a pear or
some peanuts? (Someone spoke for peach)
Though not a dead prince or Prince or even
Danish, I do enjoy the latter – w/o capital –
with tea at cafe by fishy sea as I consider
deep-then-shallow questions: shall I fork
out serious money for a pedicure?
How long, O, frayed piece of string theory?
Re string, measure or ask famous wandering
Chicken, after learning to speak Chicken.
WHO knows, but only after years of under-
funded research. They have also concluded
it’s just for the moment we live but
that’s something, isn’t it? Ask Alfie,
ask Alice, ask Google then yodel.
Still, I’m not inclined to kill anything –
sheriff, lamb or kid – even if one skates
over my foot as I’m butchering long-
neglected toenails. However, to not kill
things like mosquitoes may make them
stronger so action – violent, legalistic –
is required before a statue of limitation
is yanked off its pedestal. See you round,
Liberty, you gorgeous, gun-totin’ gal.
There’s still a pandemic for Nature’s sake.
Rest of my life? After saving the world
from whatever via poetry, lie (down)
on sofa in front of empty goldfish bowl.
‘Rest’ as in ‘remainder’? How is one to know
what a different one means? Post tire, retire.
We arrive at comfy sofa either way.
A bang or two, then a whimper followed
by a brief lie (down) til expiry then
a kindly permanent one. Follow-up scene
is science project as specified by organ
donor in amended will, compliments
of on-line Free Will Kit, to be located
under socks. Much depends on cud.
Will chew on that as I paint my nails.