My neighbor plays an all-day guitar
Not songs but scaling tunes
The notes he chose pass through the wall
Over the rat poison and die on the coverall
I take my lunch from Whole Foods
A sushi roll, the Hot Items Bar
They’re never far
I took it home and read the news
At a quarter to four
I open the beer-fridge door
And see a range of Blue Mountains
Inside each a spring, a fountain
That runneth down my chin and collects on the floor
I might watch the United States play Angola
And remember when I bought that R.C. Cola
Who drank all that R.C. Cola?
At halftime I’ll Wikipedia Pensacola
The seaport county seat of County Escambia
Home to the Blue Angels
Have they flown over the Blue Mountains
Those Blue Angels on high
Did they see pools of crystal clear Coors
And beer-battered fish fry aswimmin’ in the waters?
Were they ousted from Blue Heaven
Their tricksiness disdained?
Do they show Man Vs. Food in Blue Heaven?
Or even in Africa?
We are not so judgmental down here
We would love to see you pirouette in the stratosphere
I’d love to see you pirouette up there
I wouldn’t know how to miss that
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