[Portage, 2010]
Elderhostel escapees prowl
In Velcro shoes through
Sam’s Club, grazing the sample dole
Mouth-breathers, even whilst eating.
Lunch of tamals
At Los Amigos
The menu’s main graphic, a female
Langraphic gender -bending mayhaps?
A spikey hair beside us
Hectors our waiter, “Dude,
I got the Speedy Gonzalez!”
Sayeth I: “Try the huevos
Con hair, mui yoctolicious.”
Our street lawns are littered
With inflated creatures,
Santa, Rudy, snowmen,
Other nameless celebratory shit,
Such structures reclining all day
In airless plastic puddles,
To be re-animated when
Snot-noses trickle homeward
From the school ‘round the corner.
Slapdash cultural mishmashes abound
In full see-sound-around
Life most days no damn pikunikkku,
Even in a no-pan barru.
Ask Tony Soprano.
How many shopping days
To effing Christmas?
Jesus gone now 80 generations
Not even born at Christmas.
Like I said, cultural mishmash
Make up your own shit,
Everybody else does.