Poem
Drive-Thru Hazards
The girl with the red cap is part
of the mayonnaise. She has a ball game
between her foot and a shotgun
in the paper bag. The sun
slips a smiley bumper sticker
in the pudding. Traffic jam.
A Batman costume sums up
the clouds. You scry
chewed-up pieces of hamburger,
spit again and again for luck.
Outside the future is on a decoy duck.
A child points at you
from the billboards in his mouth.
Next, an old man called ephebophobia.
He is all false teeth,
highly flammable. Proof
is all there. Now
a policeman with cold cough,
cough drops taps the glass.
He’s sick. You’re sick.
If not now, then when?
