faithful boyfriends
march to the beat
of a beatles song
with a sad melody

and somewhere in the middle
of the ant colony
despite all common sense
marches old faithful me

right up to and over the casual cliff
flopping like fish
out of the freezer
and onto a home-cooked dish

a comma in a poem
about an innocent dream,
and the memory of a hand
searching for a pocket in pocketless jeans