Ice Cream Sunday

They who took inventory on this February morning
Counted twenty dwarf dice rolling
Around in a day-glo ambulance,
One naked woman waking from a celestial stupor,
And 525,600 minutes released from a hydrogen port-a-potty.
In other words, entropy succumbed to the yes man.

Others joined in to applaud the promotion.
Soon the neophobes erased their no-no policy and
Replaced it with a platinum crest embossed
With the names of their great-grandparents.
It’s okay to receive a begonia in a registered letter or email.
It’s okay to elongate the cysts’ dimensions.

All that’s left is to pitch the fledgling herd
Into the phosphorus census being taken
As we speak. As we speak, we trim
Our own syndrome, we generate implicit
Conceits, we scoop daylight up and out
From the bottom of the bucket and we savor it.