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.