Blue M&M Mascot
There, a mound of seven or eight
crumpled debit receipts on the futon
within arm’s reach of hairy paunch.
Thunder’s heard as rain dies down.
Portions of routines like sad chords.
The paunch blue and shiny, mouth sighs.
Eyes like a stoner’s and the thumbs up
(I sware it makes me think) then the rain
matures enough for ponchos. White arms,
white cartoon gloves and sneakers,
that kick the box elder bug dead on
its wings, are counterfeit. Ach. Gloves removed
to wash hands and mouths with mouthwash
and hand soap, and the angle of the tall bay
window blinds evoke displacement, luxury
allowed only the situated. Deep breaths
of Crest peppermint, seeming sadder, employed,
what they will call this century one day.
Floating Wolf
