Tuesday Morning Man

I peer through the spreading portal
that the heat vent burns; a growing sun.
Two geese fly in the television sky.

Verizon, when will my cell phone
be rigged to work fellatio?

Troll eyes bead above the dash
of a Chrysler, too close.
Jutting manholes jar my little roadster
as I bear down on a Buick’s bumper.
Jesus fish and gun rights, it simply fits.

Hey Honda, where's my hover craft?

Months without a movie moment,
I have flat lined.

My gullet rolls in Nutra-grain goodness.
How did I come to worship this God of Nutra?

Turbo-bass surround sound might help;
ba-BOOMP-pa, ba-BOOMP-pa, ba-BOOMP-pa.

Plus that phone thing.