Four in the morning;
fitful Armageddon dreams
disrupt my slumber.

Ham, glistening glaze,
perfect Easter company…
Forget the rabbit.

The lawn is finished.
The sour stench of chemicals
hovers in the air.

This bland restaurant
somehow manages to serve
expensive dinner.

Along the back wall,
atop the radiator,
I can see the band.

As baseball begins,
ballparks look immaculate.
My lawn lags behind.

Having lost a tire,
my bicycle needs to be
carried in my arms.

We come bearing treats
(cookies to be specific)
made from Nutella.

“Press button to walk.”
Even though it does nothing,
I still press the thing.

Driving all day long
from one store to another
gives me a headache.