Garçon, you snore so rhapsodically but hup hup,
peach schnapps & Coke Zero
with a gumball-green mermaid swizzle stick—
I need me a diabetic shock.

I yearned so long to be ensorcelling,
yet I’m always a meter maid, never a mermaid.
I’d populate this world w’ idlers of my kind,
but pistil-less, I’m pissily only one.

Who made me this way? Oh you. Oolong Ma.
(Go bury yourself in a sandpit, Ma,
while my galpals and I split a cranmuffin 5 ways
and watch.)

So here I gig, in this club empty
as a tampon dispenser inside the shell
of a Texas gas station—still
I’ll stand, declaim:

Not enough letters in my soup, garçon!
All I’m doing is inging
like an atting instrel,
I’m rank when I need to be frank!

Just you wait, I’ll hijack all type—
My specialty? Scandinavian Modern