a needle in a
fancy ecru etui embroidered
by homeless Bantu children.
The slinky fell down
a flight of stairs
humorously much like a
sack of chocolate pudding.
The sky ripped open
and a loud crack
echoed down the valley
of the shadow of
debt. But all was
wet, once the rain
fell like a stallion
on the tiny clowns
in their tiny towns
changing smiles to frowns
and squares to rounds
while saying, “Oh, zounds!”
The Eiffel Tower melted