she had a Bluetooth smile

& Apples

in her cheeks–

eyes lensed in photographic memory

& mother-boarding hips,

& we shared so many common programs, besides.

…

It seemed like a meme.

we handheld for a time…

in those days of chips & Dosses

…

ah, Y…

the orientation was landscape, &

a macro upgrade seemed certain

a little Log-on cabin in the Webs

with a white picket Firewall,

Sensible thumb drive &

maybe a few links…

but I pushed the wrong buttons

(too much auto-correct!)

and she dumped me,

and sure

I space-barred around a while,

but for the sake of inner PC, I eventually powered down.

if life is the present,

& boxes are thoughts. . .

would

rapping

then

foil

its issues

or not?

And now,

now you are always in school…

Measured by

believable

pixelated yardsticks

a slice on the bias

that slaps

pictured apples,

orange paintings, and

full-on lemon poetry with umbrella measure

–umbrellas the stoners can’t manage–

since they wear skullcaps,

mirrored sunglasses,

and hang out behind the church getting high…

Skyscraping comparisons are made

— different trains on the same track–

blue-printing incidental white lies

as instant if forced word problem

that chalks up hourly.

like flies on seriously rotted cafeteria food.

(a selection of diamonds, meerkats, and tomatoes)

but really,

how often do those things blend

outside of news streams?

–of Stone Soup?

–of 20 questions?

Highest heels ricochet down interminable halls

> the ones no one wears for long <

echoing with authority

but the cool kids

were never in the building

they went off campus for lunch

and never came back…

Never noticed

your mad moves

–my sick skills–

and

his individuated conformity–

scribbling across yearbooks

(or 50x a day book)

who cares if the picture rubberstamped

(Mr. President, in each instance)

is photo-bombed

its transcendent caption

just the littlest bit obscene…

As long as the vote’s in

for prettiest lies.

She curled up under her cape

–lined in softest fleece

kicking off hooker boots

–that concealed bed soX

& sipped T
 
 
(she’d reconfigured

S into)

scareless of structure

figure-hugging bodysuit

exchanged

for sweats made familiar

by repeated wear–

telephone booth emblem

on nearby book the closest of its kind

. . .

whose book?

(a library borrow)

dumb?

(just overdue)

smarter in silence.

ruffling dog-ears

so affectionately careful,

she weighed back-burnered options

on all cylinders

–no longer led—

house rattling as the

L train passed overhead

(virtually unnoticed)

she bypassed

(instead of leaping)

the construct

in time

. . .

a bird

–on plane—

to suit her

plan.

Salvaged Mammoths melt

in Stoli rocks,

*frozen *

in Simply Red buckets,

DNA-licious

and Tusk plays in the background, naturally–

–until frosted glasses spill rehydrated

Mastadon,

and who knew to try that?

Who deemed it expedient?

(you might wonder)

but to Hell with inquiring minds.

The quest for a heftier, emotional

stonewall to stockpile elephants resumes.

Since tame pachyderms

in Zoo conditions

live afraid, but still  stampede…

They still fell baby birds…

and Crush irreplaceable Mice.

while Mammoths, on the other hand,

remember.

overall impact.

longer.

Should it matter that critical

genomes have been lost?

Should that factor in?

Splicing spooked elephant genes

with Mastadon ice cubes

> seems iffy <

The irreplaceable

Pocket Pet remains

immorally slain, and can

the Dead transcend the Extinct?

It seems impossible.

But Mice have Electric Tales, now,

and Russians scavenge deeper with ice picks

—so prehistoric order could set in.

Flat as the sign of fleeing immigrants

her eyes storm fever yellow

–warning diamonds that

tried to get pregnant in the shower

the whole time–

but the sperm preferred blow up dolls,

and the Ivory soap bubbles were infinitely better looking…

bypassing her Plain-Jane egg

for a daughter who smelled of milk,

who did Calculus in her head,

who pushed pins through

butterflied wounds,

and enjoyed shocking news.

Hoarded like water,

recounted to gratify–

–the newest question:

“Do you know who died today?”

(on a scale of one to ten)

“Because I do…

I know who died today…”

not hearing him

> grab <

for air

extending

electron orbit

into space.

Don’t lead with your bleeding insides.

It’s not what the world expects—

Don’t drip on their high

lest you be “that guy”,

camouflage your defects.

Quash your anxiety firmly.

Who cares if it shifts and gnaws?

Present a good face,

manage with grace,

candy-coat obvious flaws.

Convey your best pasteurized wishes,

to those you encounter each day,

inquire after—

their life with some laughter–

(The laughter will show you’re ok.)

If such artifice becomes tiresome,

& you feel the mask slipping, please note—

If you lay yourself bare

no one will care,

even worse only few swing the vote.

To recap this advice in a nutshell,

& pin-point the best path to choose,

smiling through pain,

is the only way plain,

To insure they don’t turn off the news.