To no obvious effect are you turned over
and over in the Disney, run-through
or pleased with the freezer’s production.
Blank-eyed, you write Zagat
of the musical bath toys’ “joyless service,”
“the hole in the wall remains dirty,”
and “greatly missed is the usual absence.”
Your single adult-tooth
is tuned like radio to despair. O, my wailing
by waves of returning car lights that are not your mother’s car.