Woolly Mammoth Poem

So, we can call ourselves on the phone and burn the lettuce,

break coffee cups on chlorined tiles from the disco era.

I’m committed to proving the stupidity of others casually;

Pizza Hut Poem

I’m at the Pizza Hut with a gravel parking lot,
and their mail goes to a PO box
in a converted WW II bunker.

Everyone here votes on instinct,
the way it should be, ya know, Napoleon;
look it up *adjusts bangs*.

Forklift Poem

We might need a forklift

To make sure my eyes are alive.

I won’t hold it against you if you try

To make it through the revolving doors

Report Card Poem

There were a lot of logs there

and the stupid flash floods;

they were really good at seeing who was absent

and who had shown up with their shoes tied correctly.

Gatorade Poem

Gatorade bottles in a Sebring,
the last ounce of blood on the ceiling,
It was a screening of a telenovela,
and my lashes hit the ground at the crisis
like a baggy soldier turned yellow.

Unknown Skunk Poem

Shit, an unknown skunk,
why did you build your own shack
and hole up with all the neighbors’ loose change?
Animal control had no reply,
but now I’ve been waiting for you in a blizzard
while my arm hairs become ozone.

Handbook for the Recently Deceased Poem

He was just way too confident, that mutt that memorized The Handbook for the Recently Deceased cover-to-cover: he leveraged his chalk tricks for making doors and his taste for creepy public-domain music to make people feel stupid for their interior decorating…

Redneck Poem

Rednecks are definitely more psychic than the rest of the population;
they still have RC Cola for god’s sake (my middle name is “Heck”).
They’re more likely to be Wiccans too, with stinky herbs
to make people have demon babies; it’s actually just a recipe.
Camo jackets are simply a skin disorder,
at…

Cool Whip Poem

I know you, asshole, and I was being decent
when I thought your bed should be covered in mint.
I recognize your hair, idiot, and she lived up
to her Chilton shoes with your dollop of Cool Whip.

Dead Folks’ Furniture Poem

With an iconic flair for resting bitch face,
she ironed bumper stickers to her lapels,
but her coffin was just plywood in place
of expensive dead folks’ furniture, never on sale.