At Princess Olga's

The smartest of us found a coatrack;
We had linguine and peaches to protect.
First, from a rectilinear curve of earth fell Myrna,
Expellable one-hundredfold because hunchbacked.
Her form was as the moondog's,
Lunescent as Miami relatives parlaying lilaceous fake vaginas
For tape-dancing lessons.
The many Albanians were eager for tape-dancing,
Though most didn't know the first thing about dipping.
Enter the coincidental Caucasian —
Rod Praecox and his "bucketful o' muscle" —
Challenging the Albanian counterman from downstate
By one-offing Urkel with scores of sonnets each beginning:
"Even mistletoe gets the gristle."
Impeccably occluded but impotent in the afterglow,
Missy Bodybuild's side-cleaved loquacity was spent on the subject of
groin fluency.
Number One Necromancer mercifully interrupted her:
"What do you get when you cross a Dadaist with a brooch?"
(Answer: Aldous Huxley, who wrote with his nose.)
Meanwhile, Aggrieved Deodorant Gal unbuttoned Obese Basso's shirt
to his navel;
His rust-colored alluvial boots begged her to.
His conceit, he said, was to meet interesting people in Nebraska,
While working as a temp for Keith Richards.
Suddenly, the many Albanians began beating their women's heads
Like bongo drums.
The women stuck their tongues through their button holes.
Most needed water after.
Silas deployed his famous Franciscan buss as a pre-emptive measure,
Though only Aggrieved Deodorant Gal showed optimism.
The movement to dispensate any budding footpath perverts
Set off cautious offspring onto already rickety arpeggios of
"Want to make more money, Dane?
Let hogs root through your shame."
Then, I guess, the babysitter appeared.
And maybe even a twelve-point centaur was there.
If he was anywhere.