After the crowd thinned, we crowded into an omnibus
no larger than a hallmark and rode around town
as the credits tumbled out of control. With the exchange rate
plummeting, we looked to each other for clues
to the Chinese puzzle box purring in the middle of the road.
I'd never thought it possible
but there I was floating on a sea of flotsam
without a care in the sky
while you busied yourself skipping around
from I to he to you with oafish abandon
laying down the beat for a distant bassoonist
with the determination of a rickety metronome.
It was time to call it quits.
This of course was out of the question
so instead we saddled up and rode off into a billboard
with others charged with passing out soffits.
We must have done the scene nine and a half times or so
when in the last half hour the director
seemingly inside himself shouted Taglio!
Everyone scattered.
Teamsters rushed in and released the pigeons on cue
which was closely monitored by a local animal rights group
led by a middle-aged assistant college professor
who kept announcing off-camera that she had nothing to wear.
