A pig in the shape of me goes to the gas station.
Two ninety five is not bad for the Midwest, pressed
under great slabs of sun. Take it all in, what
you know and what you don’t. Don’t get it twisted
I would never in my life be the mayor
of Battle Creek, Michigan. Open your eyes!
You think it’s slick to imagine me so tall, so cool.
Let me out of the barn with sun-rimmed eyes.
In truth, I have no recollection of what it means:
three pink ducks left in the rain, groveling.

I don’t know what you want from me. This gecko
has been trapped in amber for 54 million years! Ask
the hollow of the tree where it came from,
what it saw. I am sweating like my pig because
you won’t tell me anything at all. The Kellogg factory
stands for not even you. We had a box with Tony’s
glossy face and his arm around my shoulder. Scourge!
You’ll let me rot in my own heart.
You want to touch my cheek like I’m
the mayor of Battle Creek, Michigan.