Because it’s no soap, radio

a playbill for a music show

with top hat and a plaid bow

on Broadway two years ago.

There’re two bears and a tiger,

three ears and a liar,

with no water in a forest fire,

who were too young to retire.

Snow in the Sahara desert,

too-long short sleeve button up t-shirt,

with not enough people to divert

and look away from the extrovert.

It was a yellow canary in the platoon

with a cup of tea in the afternoon

sitting over a sick patient who was immune

to the regular common capitalist commune.

But that was two years ago:

an old top hat and a lost bow

on a washed-out playbill

calling for no soap, radio.