by Suzán Jiván, Mom
& Mom-Mom Suzán
Never having the nerve
of revellers none the less
unimpressively
strumming cellos
with the good intentions
of veritable terror
strung together
across the neck
without question
like a tightroping guest
until the song ends
leading to dread
in a flurry of confetti
nodding discontentedly
as beads of smelly sweat
pelt every directive
getting depressed
becoming yellowed
at neither end
subsequently
clamped together
clasping hands
to gasping mouthes
predictive of an ouster
being read aloud
and pushed out
like crunching sounds
into the loudly unallowed
in unflappable atmospheric
ballads of organic gaggles
of honky-tonk gals
pecking at twanging tangles
of vituperative brambles of blue...
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