PIPE DREAM Her crowning glory —
a crinkled nose, a cloud of smoke. One thing
leads to another, she chokes. Why buy the cow
when you can get the milk for free? The lectores
abhorred modernization. A story should linger
in the air like smoke. Unlike a woman, poised to
be deposed. A rival’s arrival, an ever-receding
horizon—she deserves all that and more—to be.
Postscriptural economies: put that in your pipe
and smoke it. Ceci n’est pas une pipe. All right.
Put that in your purse and tote it. What a handy-
dandy convertible!The top, UP↑DOWN↓, leaves
room to grow. At least an inch-and-a-half in
the toes. The crowd goes gaga. Dada’s so passé.
But, hey, who doesn’t dream of a Father’s knee,
bent in supplication? (… to be continued…)
A stranger stopped her on the street to let her know
she’d sprung a leak. Got milk?, he grinned. She
store-fronted, Please, who needs milk without
cookies? And, my cookie jar’s always full.