I’d like to take the brown-green grass
In my backyard and stuff it all,
In its Sunday afternoon, bladed scratchiness,
Into the Insikerator© garbage disposal
At the bottom of my of my DeNovo™ sink.
And my goddamned gutters, full of gunk
And pine needles, that beg me to climb atop the roof
And risk my life just to insure that the rain will slide
Slowly down the downspouts to the awaiting concrete,
(Which, by the way, insists that I power-wash it
Every goddamned spring so that my nonexistent houseguests
Won’t think me a slob,)
Should be melted into to a blob of molten aluminum
With an acetylene torch by no one else but me,
So that I can pour my gutters into the sink with the grass
And smile as my wife divorces, and saves, me from
All that I know to be familiar and mine.
