MY FAVORITE THINGS

Kisses on noses and whiskers on mittens,
flop ears on spaniels and cops who get bitten,
music that’s Dukish providing some swing,

these are, count ‘em, five of them. Instructions
include daisy-chain advice to all protesting
closed-fisters: take a small cloth damp with Joy

and apply to the surface in small circles.
Ideologies can quickly be wiped away!
Fancies, mindsets, factoids, even long-held

cherished beliefs follow with the bing bing bing
of BBs plucking roadside targets. Move on
people. A finicky liver is either a whiskey’d

war veteran or a depressed pompom girl unable
to face dawn’s early light. Drink up: sometimes
the creepiness is exhilarating. Millipedes make

the dank basement what it is. You couldn’t live
without them without violating an order
of magnitude. Coalbed sulfur needs your shovel

and the neutron bomb button your finger
like a hamper of puppies teats or a Mazda of bachelors
Ladies’ Night at the singles joint. Truth is

Sara Lee was so busy doin’ it and doin’ it
she hardly had time to bake. It was her sister
who had the magic oven, but history

often gets it wrong. Why despair? Banana
cake iced up and tinned remains a steady fave,
despite the cognitive dissonance implied

by saturated fat. Joint ventures geometrically
expand our possibilities. The false plum blooms
and blooms, without fruit or purpose, except mine.