The high-fives break out instantaneously like a saloon brawl.
Five dollar bill in front of the Kwik-Stop.
Surprise party patrons in paper hats crouching
underneath the dinette set. Spider web.
Bubble wrap. Kick-ass. Apollo pulling the stink of the night away
from his V-8 supercharged chariot. The stimulus check
comes in the mail! The stimulus check is cashed!
In the following weeks a careless investigation unfolds
as to what the stimulus check was spent on.
All of a sudden: soft pretzels.
Definitely, certainly, the pigeon is kick-ass,
eating garbage even when we’re not looking.
O country-wide kick-assery, the away team
winning in the seven game playoff, their hometown arena
with the Jumbotron on, the nacho guy can now afford
the new exhaust pipe he’s been piggy-banking on.
A naked woman with a naked woman tattoo
looks in the mirror and there are four naked women
in this poem. Cherry Doc Martens under the church pew,
kids playing with the box the toy was imprisoned in,
Evel Knievel jumps twenty clouds lined end
to end, grandma died flipping the mustang,
kicking ass in the HOV lane. Soft pretzels!
Anklyosaurus vs. Stegosaurus, a taxidermy caveman
neo-squatting before a shimmery paper fire at the museum.
The last piece of pizza is yours, my friend.
Cut your bangs baby
and you’ll be the talk of the town. The parade rides its rail,
everyone’s there for free candy, funny-hatted old dudes,
save me a seat for the late night explosions
Boom Boom Boom
maybe the finale wasn’t as good
as last year, I can’t remember
what I ate for lunch
but I’m full and that kid with the mop-top
and the sparkler was priiiiiitaaaaay kick-ass.
Four dollar summer gas price, wave goodbye
as I take my bike off some jumps,
zigzagging debris in the bike lane. Blizzards,
heat waves, come upstairs for a drink:
inside can be kick-ass too, somebody’s grandfather
shows somebody’s grandson how to blow smoke rings,
nobody pinpoints the song on the jukebox,
just one moment ago everything was opposite kick-ass,
now everything’s coming up
like power ball numbers on your birthday.
The Christmas present shaves its legs
underneath the neon tree, begging to get naked,
somewhere in the world right now a squirrel is waterskiing,
and there’s a hammock outside
worn down just right where the head lays.