Scientists insist their data
Show age mounts, time accelerates,
Black holes suck, universes shrink.
Artists still divide canvases
Into thirds, seeking focal points
For compositional reasons.
Romance is about effort,
A Hollywood starlet insists.
There are no Automats for love
Or koans. Just hoor houses.
Or street corners with two-legged,
Prancing Menus in platform shoes.
God’s Grandkiddles chivy,
“Pop-pop, the librarian from
Bethlehem.” And cackle wildly.
How long till the little darlings
Are sexting boyfriends or girlfriends?
Toyota is recalling cars
By the millions for sticky
Accelerators, they insist.
A formal, sternly writ tsk-tsk.
It is said you could locate Doug
MacArthur by finding prostrate
Officers and disembowled
Elderly Japanese males.
Which reminds, where in Wyoming
Doth Dick-less Cheney lurk these days?
We miss his empathetic thoughts.
Is he filling out paperwork
For a student deferment from
The coming conflagration?