Oh, we were bad boys.
Look! Above us!
George Spiggot’s waving from Olympia Spas, oblivious
to Peter’s glowering, and the waves of heat
unintentionally roast nestlings, fry bugs on the sidewalks
budding psychopaths with mirrors can do same
for faint betties.
What would you give?
asks the advert,
for an afternoon with your favorite pop star
under the heating planet?
My ice tinkles, then melts
oxen form a line.