Several thousand anchovies beached themselves
this morning, their final valediction filling a hymnal.
Corroborators radioed in
and without hesitation volunteered.
It's no different: too much plankton, too little oxygen
and before you know it, you're sputtering along
on three cylinders
dealing artichokes under the table
trying to make the most of a dry season
despite the side glances of stoop sitters and profiteers.
The shattered dream as we know it will be replaced
by a recipe. Gandy dancers are turning in droves
to the tango. Bubble baths have been drawn with crayon
for those born under the violin's muse.
Yes, it's a far cry from rocket science but so what?
Next time you're let out
why not hopscotch on the starboard side?
Listen to the pauses between acceptance speeches?
You might find it tantalizing,
as palatable in fact as one of those.
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| Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison |