All yolked out in spring’s flooded mulch
Kneecaps unhinged, tea bag exposed, palms flat
High-fiving earth, ground’s breath steeped
on Blue Blockers bent
over your bridge.
You took your chance crosscutting Wall Street
Got Humpity-Dumpitied, hedge fund expired
Your version of “The Donald” with a hairline fracture
Your woodchuck toupee clogging up the Ace of Spades
Teased out of your sleeve in a child-like manner
that no longer responds.
They split your wig
Fed you the pig
So you folded—
Like Kenny Rogers
Singing:
This one went to the market
—accompanied by dueling banjoes and
one juice-harp delivering the final crescendo:
You’re fired.
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