i'm part of someone's lie
to her mother
what's the worth of truth
it's too much a damn bother
for weekday afternoons
when the roses bloom
and cellphone reception
is more exception
less rule

the pleased poodles drool
caught by the breeze
from the alaska-chilled ocean
while the over-tanned owners
ponder an impossible notion
that somewhere across the country
there's a grad student
trying to be heard
practically yelling over the voices in his big hollow head
that come to visit for a chat
when light beer tips its hat
and all that remains is vodka, pussy, and quiet conversation