The elderly
insist
on
the
end
of
the
line
at my precinct’s polling station.
The young
round
corner
hurried,
see line,
moan,
stay.
Fucks
like me,
moldy,
obligated to fucking what?
thumb
our
phones
on
an
app
bought
to
thumb
poems
in waiting rooms.

Two balls two tweets:
Angie Dickinson
▲ who remembers ▼

John Mellancamp
I nosefarted hah
aborted snort:

O I know
I won’t talk about
killing pencils

(I look to see
don’t bother to hide
glance right glance right):

Jem’Hadar pencil
founder’s tablet white
topical tool

overdue decades:
Finish poem line short.

I Learned the Term
“Behavior Leakage”
at My Umpteenth
O My Fucking God
Emergency Training
at Work. Until Today
I Called It Ed.

Seventh xthed promise:
don’t voluntarily talk
at work. Mute, squelch, gag.

When talk required
say no more than yes and no.
Invisibly meet

deadlines. Annual
performance reports sustain
unremarkable

Bs. Evaporate
from boss’s mind like replace
able fuck I am.

Behavior leakage?
No one notices my bark’s
barking silencer.

Fleabus’ slowly going blind. Twilight but always can’t parse the necessary grays. We’re not sure how old she is. Fourteen, no, sixteen, no, thirteen, no, fifteen. We didn’t write down the date we brought her home, remember how old she was when she arrived. We don’t know how old Napoleon is, and he was born in our shed.