A Sense of Entitlement: April 8, 2013
The Talk of the Town jokes
that yesterday’s beachfront property
becomes today’s flood zone.
Conversations are led
by scripted social insurance.
After a couple of Martinis,
one may regard oneself pleasantly pixelated.
I cure nerves with a ten-hour Netflix binge,
then curve my vertebrae to you
while our phones update.
If there is no Internet after death,
Are affirmations stored in bones?
Fiscal Fallout
The New Yorker should rent a laugh-track:
The Republican Party
is more popular than the Kardashians
but less popular than cockroaches.
Who’s to say what’s obscene?
I’m building a team
out of local weathermen.
We must prepare—
whiten our teeth,
swallow bleach.
Our infertility
riding the tides
is the perfect constituent.
If we experience a fallout,
I’ll sequester your bones.
Puking American Dreams
Under my insurance deductible,
excitement is discouraged.
It gets all judgmental
when I phone in for sequins.
I am a brand
reflecting stage lights.
My platinum perfected
before cancer treatments,
my voice engineered
with auto-tuned emotion.
I am easier to swallow
than a morning dose of General Mills.
