Freon Poem

Pest control personnel
go through life rarely telling
the rest of us
about the insect choruses
they get to snuff out
with football games on in the background.

Infinite, identical jumpsuits …

He started to smell
like the froth on the nozzle.
A helmet hits the ground,
and the ones with wings
start eating each other, stingers
first like they didn’t give a shit at all.

His coworker quoted a dead frontman
with quiffed up feelings, still blonde like the ocean;
everything was appropriate like the lion
eating their go-kart in The Endless Summer, dripping Freon.

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