The Sweet Milk

When we held hands, we drank the sweet milk. When we tried to light that Altoid tin on fire, we drank the sweet milk. When we ran into the forest and tripped on our shoelaces at the same time and fell face-first into the same mud puddle, we drank the sweet milk. When we stalked and killed a cockroach and then realized it was kind of an amazing animal and felt bad and had a funeral for it, we drank the sweet milk. When we stole suckers from the dentist who had pointy eyebrows and looked at us like we were baby crocodiles, we drank the sweet milk. When we thought the world was exploding that time we drank too much cough syrup, we drank the sweet milk. When we learned all the lyrics to Cruella DeVil’s theme song and sang it to the kids we babysat, we drank the sweet milk. When we made spooky noises inside the tunnel in the park and then accidentally tripped over a passed-out crack addict and gave the crack addict the uneaten half of our sandwich, we drank the sweet milk. When we graduated from college with a black eye because of the beer bottle we accidentally hit ourselves in the face with the night before while trying to juggle, we drank the sweet milk. When we traveled to Morocco with only a backpack and $35 dollars and a broken heart, we drank the sweet milk. And now when we try to cook toast and burn it but eat it and enjoy it anyway we drink the sweet milk. When we bike for miles and miles until the world drops off, we drink the sweet milk. When we go shopping and stare too long at the eggplants because they look somehow like deformed children, we drink the sweet milk. When we smell autumn and feel like kissing it, we drink the sweet milk. When we stroll through cemeteries at night just to spook ourselves, we drink the sweet milk. When we paint the house and don’t even open the windows for ventilation just to be on the wild side, we drink the sweet milk. When we carve a pumpkin and roast the seeds, we drink the sweet milk. When we help that old lady carry her groceries even though she looks like Freddy Krueger in a muumuu, we drink the sweet milk. When we wake up in the morning and take that dew-breath and think: “Woo-ee, I ain’t dead,” we drink the sweet milk. When we drink the sweet milk, we drink the sweet milk. When we speak in the royal we, we drink the sweet milk.

Foot Loose and Fancy Free

What a lovely thing to be
All foot loose and fancy free
Ain’t nobody here with a leash on me
I’m free as a beast or a bird.
The only thing I’ve got to do
Is feed myself and use the loo
Besides that there’s no social glue
To keep me locked up in a house.
I don't have kids to keep alive
No mortgage and no nine to five
No furniture, no car to drive
I’m just a sovereign mouse.
And so you’ll find me here and there
One backpack with clean underwear
And one toothbrush for dental care
Is all that’s on my back.
I’ll be one day in a river canoe
The next day in a chimney flue
And then next week in Timbuktu
There’s no predicting that.
For I think there's a magnet that pulls me along
A crazy one that's often wrong
But how to resist it? It’s much too headstrong
I guess I’ll just be its steel wool.
And I’m lucky as well that the magnet is me...
Which is why I am foot loose and so fancy free
Why there's nobody here with a leash on me
Why I’m free as a beast or a bird.

The Memory Sweep

The chimney sweep is for chimneys
The memory sweep is for minds
He’s the reason you’ll never forget your own age
But your house keys you never can find
Yes, this is the job of this memory sweep:
He cleans informational soot
So you cannot remember the brand of your flour
But you know there’s five toes on each foot
He sweeps away memories of most of your meals
And most of the times you sipped tea
And sweeps away every darn thing that you did
Before ‘round the time you turned three
He sweeps away most of the books that you read
And most of the times you watched golf
But leaves intact some silly facts
Like the lyrics and tune of “Rudolph”
He sweeps away most of your math skills
And science he’s all but dismissed
Although he steers his dustpan clear
Of the time that you had your first kiss
Remember your lessons in Spanish?
Of course not—he’s swept them away
But he hasn’t removed the time that you got
Twelve bad bee stings in only one day
Yes, you may not have heard of this sweeper
But I swear that he lives in the brain
And I promise it’s his fault, not mine, that I can’t
For the life of me recall your name.

My Swivel Chair

I’m sitting in my swivel chair
I do so love to swivel
My swivel chair is true and sweet
And all the rest is drivel
I’ve got emails, emails, emails
(Writing back will take a while)
I’ve got graphs and charts to verify
And legal docs to file
I’ve got financial data
That I really must review
And I’ll talk to the accountant
About sales progress too
I’ve a meeting with executives
About this re-worked draft
But first I’ll make a PowerPoint
And double-check my math
I’ve got scheduling to manage
And Excel sheets to fill out
And my supervisor wants another update
I’ve no doubt.
Yes, I’m busy busy busy
And this office life is hell
But at least I’ve got my swivel chair
‘Cause swiveling is swell.

The Achievement of Warbling

My, what warbles! We warble so sweetly to each other, to all men and women, and our warblings are echoed back to us, just as sweetly, as if under order by the Grand Boomerang. The Grand Boomerang knows: what beauty in the box of the voice! In its linkage to our war lungs, to our tired minds. What a literary escape is sleep, I say...what jewels are dreams...what frightening bliss it is to watch each other cry...if only we could spend all day asleep, crying, warbling...

Q & A about the Snack Mister

The great and wonderful Snack Mister has snacks for all who are snackless. He will put a snack under your pillow at night, and two snacks under your pillow if you are ill.
The snack mister is a kind of a superhero. He carries Cheez-Its, baby carrots, Capri Suns, and fruit roll-ups. He delivers snacks exactly when you don't need them: at night, when you are snoozing. This is because he's nocturnal; he doesn't have a choice. And anyway, you shouldn't complain, because after all, free snacks!
You can either eat them for breakfast or pack them in your lunch for school. If you get the baby carrots, I'm sorry, but just think about how much healthier you'll be. The rest of us will get diabetes at least three years before you. And even if you only get the carrots, you can brag to all your friends that the Snack Mister was at your house that night.
People have some questions about the Snack Mister. Does the Snack Mister ever hit the same house twice? The answer is yes, he does. He has his favorites. Blue houses, for example, which you might want to keep in mind if you're painting your house.
Another question: Has anyone ever woken up and caught the Snack Mister red-handed? Yes, a little girl named Gretchen. She's no longer with us. We're not sure why. Maybe she eloped with the Snack Mister. It's very unlikely that he kidnapped her. He's too nice of a guy. I mean, he hands out free snacks! So how bad could he be?
And the last question, the one that's been tugging at your mind the most: what does the Snack Mister look like? Well, eyewitness accounts say the Snack Mister looks like a caped, fist-sized ball of dough, with two arms, two legs, and small yellow eyes like flashlights. They say he can make snacks appear out of thin air.
One final question just for kicks: Where does the Snack Mister get the snacks? Well, as far as we know, no warehouses have been missing snacks. So we don't think he's a thief. He just makes them appear, snap of his fingers, POOF! Which makes me wonder what other kind of magic he's capable of...maybe, if he just applied himself, he could be so much more...

Steve Jobs

We could not bite into your orchard fruit
Or feel its crisp sweet in our teeth
Your gifts were more abstruse, packed with wires...
we slid our pointer fingers on the mandala of your music box...
tip-tapped on the keys of your smooth-screened genies...
held all the world and its tiny wings on your dial pad's beautiful grandchild...
and felt like passengers on the dolphin leap of your mind
giddy as we traced an arc above the past's mediocre seas.

The Streets

"My, my," says the glutton
"The streets are made of meat!
Chicken lampposts, sausage sidewalks, parking meter pigs' feet!"
"No sir," says the cop-man
"The streets are made of crime!
Robber lampposts, sniper sidewalks, rapist parking meter dimes!"
"Ain't so," says the psychic
The streets are made of stars!
Libra lampposts, Pisces sidewalks, meters misaligned with Mars!"
Well, the glutton eats the lampposts
and the cop takes sidewalks' names
and the psychic palm-reads meters
but life all goes on the same.

Gourmet Exterminators

Two little men with pinky-stink eyes
Munchin' on fleas and cockroach fries
Chewin' on buzzy ol' black houseflies
Scarfin' postprandial pillbug pies
Eatin' all buggers that creeps and flies
Charmin' gents! ('spite their pinky-stink eyes)

Are you a Lola, Lily or Layla?

Lola, Lily and Layla went to an art gallery and looked at a pretty painting.
"That's nice," Lola said nicely, her guts full of sludge and sugar.
"Nothing is nice," Lily replied darkly, her bones full of gravel and dust.
"Koom-walla-oink-oom-zonka-zibble," Layla said, and her insides were bright, dancing chickens.

The River of the Oopsy Doopsy

Where have all the hobos gone?
Are they crackdown? Downtown? Wedding gown?
Perhaps they float, ripped coats, down the river of the oopsy doopsy.
We can't fire the righteous men
(we haven't hired them)
we can light them on fire in the river of the oopsy doopsy.
Are you postmodern? A postman? A Post-It? Post-op?
You just need one damp stamp, champ
Mail yourself right on down to the river, c/o the oopsy doopsy.