peonies betwixt my fingers
I got between things.
People and places in Ohio got buried
under New Yorkers with large forks
and large spoons.
Shovels got drowned in graves;
it eases the pain of process.
Everyone everywhere required lattés
and one woman, a a very wet cappuccino.
When drinks are wet there is no foam.
Hers was dark and brown.
Foam don't exist now, nor Farmer Bob,
don't forget him, he who flowering now
a lot of the time. Away
his grandchildren went computering,
pornogrifying fire hydrants
without need of spectacles.
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