Suburban Gods (2023)

There you go again,

blasting Boards of Canada

on headphones that betray

all privacy!

Your nose deep

in handheld devices,

you wonder, listless, when

life might serve to entertain…

Carrots and ranch

you roll over your tongue 

zesty Midwest ambrosia,

your egg-crate mattress topper

A cumulous throne.

You’re itching for a goddess

or some sort of earth nymph, but

all who call upon you are those 

with zest for: dog, local travel,

40oz water bottle,

essential oil hand sanitizer in 

200K-mile sedan console,

2.5 child DINK 401k.

Are these not your ilk?

if they are not,

you will die a damned hermit.

Hypocrite! You sigh

and stare listlessly into

your reflection on the wall:

Who am I not, then?

With that, you shape-shift

into heavy-beaked swan

—solicitor of nymphs—

and flap out the window,

presumably to fondle the curve of the sun,

carrots bouncing on the dull shag.