by Bill Yarrow
How many angels can dance on the head
of a pinhead? A circus pinhead. Divide
that number by three. Add to that the
plaid bravura required to be a husband
in the 1980s. Reshuffle the cards you are
hiding under the table. In a spirit of cool
cooperation, reverse course and make
for Islamorada. When you arrive, ask
the pharmacist for the normalizing pills
he's holding for you. Drop them down
the sewer main. Do this with everything
you have saved. The mandatory is not
your friend. Apologize to the floor boss
for knowing why. Add that to the sum above.
All rights reserved.
A version of this poem appeared on December 13, 2010, in Everday Genius, guest edited by Chloé Cooper Jones.