Girl Gives Birth to Trilobite


In this domain of the derivative, there’s cat food,
tampons, a spill on Aisle Five, the crone
with samples of arugula. Two tours

by frozen lamb and now it all makes sense: you choose
to check out. Your wife will take up
with a talk-show host, the dog converts to Islam.

They’ll never find you camping
in the bakery, basket of organics, enough
AlphaBits for Finnegan’s Wake.

Spend your nights on the floor
by the olive jars, soothed by the parallax
of pasta boxes, the hiss of rain on lettuces.
Read about Celine. Do situps, ankles

under a pallet of 3.2 beer, power-walk
to the Eagles, Kleenex boxes slippering
your feet. Juggle Bosc pears

until the time comes to carry a sack
of jasmine rice to the curb and throw
each grain to the mouth of the moon.