Listen to Dana Goodyear reading this poem. Take me to your sleeping porch! Cross-breeze. Swiss dot. View. We’ll try for some rude healthful pure, do what young people do.

Or, I’ll point out scenery,
the more expensive property.
A slurry beach.
An empty breach.
Thick, eggish water breaking
on the boring, boring shore.

Is everything defective here?
There are men downstairs who think
that gin’s a breakfast drink.

I mean to say: It’s May.
Let’s find an outdoor shower.