The humdrum of a burnt metal assembly.
Cast-iron frenzy, staining hands like Cheeto crumbs.
Helluva ride from Oslo to Norway.
From Glasgow to first grade.
To ride a bus or drink champagne?
Where’s the wonder in big dreams and marmalade?

That humdrum of metal, burning wild and wasting.
Growling over cardboard signs screaming.
Baking a pie filled with all kinds of texture.
All minds on the tastes like mom used to make’s.
Buffalo Wild Wings is just around the corner, but
some want their wings grown at home.
To spread butter only to cover it in down.
To drown the pancakes in sap stains.

That drum hums a metal tune, ancient and ailing.
Pink Floyd rolls off the tongue funny;
like lemonade or Bruce Wayne;
like Jessie James and steady aims;
like phantasms and chardonnay.

Bully pulpit shocks the world today!
Brand new greetings pass through Congress;
They sound a bit like a blue jay’s mating cry.
You remember this from your fanatical art teacher
crying at the sound over VHS static.
Vicious validation from an apathetic audience.
After class, he told you how stupid she looked.
How immature it was to cry about the simple things, you told him
in double speak. In towns, we seek to find a journey. A path
to wander down until the ground claims us.
In towns, we hear the humdrum. The metal burning in
your father’s workshop back home.
The calls for reunion.