Handkerchief Sandwich
Nathan Knapp

Notice the absence of talking duck,
of moving truck, of Tom, Harry, and especially

Dick. (All of the world's ports are just burger joints
in the end.)

Soil lipping into the grinding sea,
falling off. At least we had no falling-out, you say.

We should have, I say.
No --

never again, never again in the hotdog-stand of emotion
shall I lay out my arteries,

pinch off the living motion.
(I am in the market for a prayer
book on this matter but it has not been made.)

I'm smattering the edges of the cemetery
with a spade,

filling the holes with plastic
flower-selling stands

I will sell you one
so that you can sell them too

Lovely! we will have it beneath the petals of
our sold-out plastic daisy,

and never be betterever again