Change! Terrorist fist
bump! Maverick! Staycation!
Recessionista! 

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Single ladies, make
sure that ring doesn’t come
with a hidden chain.

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The olives go for
a swim in the shallow pool
of gin and vermouth. 

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No need to visit
baby store for discount kids.
The stork delivers.

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Tap tap tap as the
car rushes through traffic, hit
send before we crash. 

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Pillowy pile of
leaves yields fertile sludge soaked with
dark brine of decay. 

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An angel looks out
over the living room, her
halo protects us. 

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Wanted, for spying
on citizens, scaring kids,
and reindeer fighting. 

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The fallen have their
names etched in ballpoint, a sheet
of layoff victims.

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A holly jolly
season brings tropical sun
and Hawaiian shirts. 

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Their passing does not
go unnoticed, with spaces
left unfilled, untouched. 

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Wake up, look out the
window, and gaze upon the
unchecked horizon. 

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Fairy tales, horror
stories stop with “The End.” Thus
the page turns once more. 

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I said I didn’t
need you any more. But I
lied just a little.

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Staged coming-of-age
requires uncloseting
of gay mixed-up mensch. 

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