We snuggle between coasts, licking our cocoon of good health,
but varmints lurk and plonk near the fringed lagoon of good health.
A comforting voice tells how Peter bags the wolf each time
nature lurks. Hear the lustrous purple bassoon of good health.
Stealthily staged in sod house, Queen Anne, split level, starter
ranch or semi-detached, a hungry platoon of good health.
Liberty or death. Don’t tread on me. Semper fi. Come strong
or don’t come at all. No room for a poltroon of good health.
Dissent and debate ain’t disloyal. Word fur should fly fast
in a tea-cupped salon or sawdust saloon of good health.
So set ’em up Joe, I got a little story I think
you oughtta know. Make it one signature tune of good health.
Who suffers casualties for mere vanilla? The spice wars
of sex set us up good: quadroons, octoroons of good health.
With enough milk, my honey will produce more GDP.
Sucking strong, I lash myself to the harpoon of good health.
Once you win those office battles you’ve been fighting dear, our
slim bank account will behave like a buffoon of good health.
Tail fins of Cadillacs. The dripping fat flaming backyard
barbecues. Live, the animated cartoon of good health.
Fenced yard. Locked door. Basement. Return to sender cul-de-sac.
I squat down, squint, and make my stand, a maroon of good health.
Out my dark window, houses like faces. The blank gash mouth
of avid expectation swallows the spoon of good health.