we’ve got blue suede and high tides
and whisky to keep us warm
we’ve got hospital stays
and worries at bay
and hearts shaped like mules
the ocean’s a drop in the pail
of trashy good looks
and runaway heads or hearts on the lam
who could stand
just ground worm meat
and a fan-less tail
not sleepers like us
not for banana peels
not for cigarettes
we’ve got splashed eyes
and soda water
we’ve got harm to hot-wire
we’ve got shady sides of the street
a pigeon named dove
a smoker you love
and a bad time
that’s all good all around
when it’s getting later than it should
when crying laughs like it could
then we’ll paint trash cans
moon colors à la mode
while waiting
for mailboxes like also-rans
to give up
and just explode
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