If My Uncle Was Danish

The was going or the could have been
—that goes without saying—
when you’ve got dodgy Viking credit
and ginseng pills thrown into the blender,
who the fuck turns it on?
A little ginseng, a little melatonin,
some of the chelated stuff from
HEB’s aisle of wellness
—it goes a long way in the ongoing
battle against the domination of sniffles.
Blenderize that, what have you?
Most precisely and again, what have you-ooh-ooh?
Get back, funky Jack
and take the high road to Tipperary.
Worry, whine, and wait some more,
because there’s no call to ruin
a perfectly fine blender.
Think of the daiquiris man!
Those alone are worth suspected murder
and incestuous intrigue.
A margarita on the rocks?
In this weather?
Save your Geronimo’s
and securely fasten the mask to your face
and then place one on that of the child next to you.
More precisely and again—take your parachute-oot-oot
cause your gonna get wet.
In summation,
if the house is going to win,
you don’t double down.
Another? You’re a sweetheart.