The Pressure to Deform

Monkey-see, C-suite monkey 

see-saws from one wrong answer

to another fresh from the table 

of random numbness scrambling

to the front a font of split-

second gesture toward life-

changing circumstance, not to be 

confused with romance, near weeds 

of dubious breed all skittery with birth self-

replicating in the surf-waft blemishing

the house paint splurged against the building 

by the chemistry teacher on summer break 

missing his beakers, flasks, Bunsen burners, 

and pipettes. Notoriety needs an audience 

reported as weight rather than by number, 

“a ton of people.” The inhabitants of the home 

have not much in common except the skin 

of the house now being touched up to last for years 

of seasons, the oncoming fall with masses 

of mood leaves destined to stain the white

now viewable in the momentary sun made rich 

for the waking hours as far from Waikiki 

as a gaggle of defragged bits disguised as one 

big happy fam slammed into a frame.