Cop Train

You're like a cop train
urgently sirening away, but stuck on an, uh,
whaddaya call it? a fixed path, sire. i mean,
sir. a fixed path. you cannot footpath. you aren't
i mean a nomad.

Come quick, Dr. Dearborne! comes another one,
just another whisper, just another cop train.
a fixed ballad upon saucy Midwestern earth.
center of the universe and all that, fellas. we got
our work cut out for us, yessir. this one will prove
a difficult case.

I'm a third-year, goes another, soft voice,
firm breasts, playing with her hair. her name's
probably Laura, but it won't matter. you do not
love her; and yet, they aren't all the same. may be
that the search continues, we murmur gently.

it goes, so. whaddaya gonna do about it? that's what
i'd like to know. another lazy wind; another drift of
Spanish over the radio. warm feelings tendril the
earth: spring's vines maybe. we spring vines, say,
opening a new chapter of laughter...
and stir-fry. this is my only voice, i say,
my only choice.