i know i said i wasn't gonna, but

We carry
cloth bags of scratched paper & gum wrappers
roll around in metal music-filled boxes
wear fine-print lists of cities on our backs & with
speakers clipped to our ears, seem
to be yapping at crackers
in the snack aisle. We build roads, drill giant holes
into them & stand with orange hats on & arms
crossed, around the holes
during 5 o'clock rush hour. We wrap time around
our wrists, put spikes through
the asses of plastic animals & nail them
into our yards, where we stand
fists on hips & scowl @ how next door's new
barn-shaped mailbox is an embarrassment
to the neighborhood.