Jagged mobiles
With parabolic downward curves
Of branching satellites,
Like a couple’s lifespan that peaks and falls,

Or the belittling of alcoholics
Afraid of peach cobbler
Or the annoying abundance of writers
Who employ writers as their protagonists.

The giraffes who do laundry
Are as those who expect politicians
To fulfill their campaign promises.

Does the escapist 8 ball make you hungry
For a platter of gouda cheese, mustard and lederhosen?
Or the treacle of lies?

Life is the Buick of Cadillacs,
A salty dough topographic relief of mini-storage units
With identifying map tacks.

Are the coats to be unzipped in spring?
Unlikely, for hope is commandeered
With curdled whipped cream on top.