When Last Beheld the Neckless Turtle Roamed
To sue, or not to sue
that is the question,
for recklessness of yore,
moms and pops hired cutman,
whose work is underscored.
And overscored as well, you see
yea, roundabout indeed
purloined pleasure's punctates
whose aid for planting seed
lay woefully discarded
on heaps of other refuse
(picked up Thursdays and Mondays, except for holidays)
and now lay in landfill hallowed
by its silent nobility.
A part of me I never knew
is gone forever;
Wormfood.
Or perhaps
the choking Sea Gull's song
betrays last meal's deceit
Sonata to Faux Clam Strip
and drops a hundred feet
to inherit second woe
where toilers on bulldozers
and also on backhoe
heated asphalt lay and form
upon a repaved street.
One nose too many
by steam rollers finger chosen
whilst picking it unseeing
descending bit of meat.
(Accelerating earthward at a rate of 32ft/sec/sec)
Plop! My darling barely dimples
softened tar and stone
when just a second later
ten tons rolling oe'r her groans
and growing exponentially
neath the pull of heavy wheel
it's spread a full half meter
whose very thought doth gender moans.
To think this little bit of me
entombed beneath my feet
though boasting now this 18 inches
is part of Johnson Street.