Shirley Temple’s Umbrella

The garden pomegranate was
an off red, lipstick was Max Factor;
canonical, conical missiles,

I, eight, must “Picture the destruction…”,
made in Taiwan, circa 1978,
“…of Jerusalem…”,

hyper-orange strafing, sheets of it
careening, “…pigs let loose..”,
speared ribs on Chatham Square flames to
illustrate, then animate, a sketch

Guernica in the eyes
of the visible mind, Chi Mere water,
an end for adjacent aesthetes,
“…to defile…”, brick entrapped,
voluptuous elements: Alfalfa, Buckwheat…;

“Left to be a little less than a godless sty..”,

perceived small wishbone footing
his pride: this golden hen, cobbles
three-a-day local Hebe rubes,
a white vain glee, at games–

single space 5-Card Stud, Ching-Dai;
or was it Ding-Pai? ’round the horse
shoe, pass the analects, down on Mott–

Of unmapped Bergen County metronomes’
hand a-steady-rocking “…the
liturgical asylum, once sanctified..”,
overstuffed, black-gray sooty descent;

Our father’s grease-paint outlined,
(rusting-egress ancient), sub-
terranean jalopy spot’s clean squeak.