The money spider crosses a hand.

You shut the door and open up

the secret drawer, so hefty

and loud your knees pop. We're

beginning our descent into barbarism:

sorry, it's conclusive

since the windows filled with milk

and the floor with blood and honey.
Only two to go then one more, then

we begin our evolutionary strategy in earnest.

Look up and smile; the coffee drinks the cup

and fathers eat their leftovers unbidden.

We like these airy breakfasts, anti-gravity service

puts me in the circus-mood

mentioned in the guide. White clowns in the air out

on parole. We must wear our ornamental

blinkers for landing.
Skirts turn Mondrian. Complimentary?

Yes, it's all free–so long as you can say

“pop it in Mum's bag,” she prising

lead shingles off a roof. Our dentist
works as a baggage-monkey now, inciting every

passenger to their teeth. But smile,

this is a road someone lives on–and that's

why we're here on this national holiday:

to celebrate how ducks move and the big

noise they make! enjoining us to attend more closely

to pirate, treasure, flag and farm

equipment plowing us untimely under

the clues, the slopes.