Rocks came alive
when McGaferty applied
a tiny magnet to the blood.
He holds a rigor mortised gerbil in the photo
while his wife stands balanced on a gnome.
Moist planty oxygen in the brightly lit terrarium.
Two ducks splash down
in a fountain turned orange by pennies’ oxidation.
Powder blue snowmen guard the pond
where shad fish died under ice—
their gas pockets putrid balloons.
Still the private life seems elegant
in the Danish style of the kabinet:
sleek blinds and a herring figurine. Sturdy
(actually it’s decomposing) teak.
Something like a towel rod
might never become a great nation’s symbol
even of independence hockey boys
sing in the shower for Eskimo Pies.
At closing time a line of drivers
curbside one in a flat cap
holds a sign with a single word Stars.