20 minutes to evacuation

I wanted you to be the first to know

That Disneyland is nearly closed.

And my fortuneteller said I have,

One day left to live.

The squealing little pigs feet beat a tattoo and

 she casts a maroon shadow over the bridge.

It was the kind of weather you'd expect to find.

 The sunset, clear and bright hues of sorbet.

 Mothy, dusty languages crept at the corners of my mind,

whispering and snatching at mine thoughts.

My mother blinked.

The mosquito flew away, full of hot blood.

December 5th, the oatmeal sputtered on the stove.

Gloppy goodness, warmth.

Tonight you jest, tonight the geese would return.

Skies, heavy and dead, feeling near to falling.

But for one little flamingo colored pig,

Standing atop a hill.

She watched from the bridge,

As a lost little metaphor came home.

The quiet speaking grew louder.

Ubbi Dubbi, Atlantian, wind-whisper.

From where hail donut holes?

Storks and crows?

I've only fallen asleep once in my life,

For now I'm content to stubbornly cling,

Hang, to consciousness at 3 AM watching Moulin Rouge.

Timothy dusted the oven door,

Then found his burnt cookies,

Cracked, brown, mud flat of the desert.

Sunset swished into dark,

The stars rose,

Dancing among dark above the Sahara.

It's time to leave the fork behind,

Bury and leave it with the Spork.

The little pig, pink as a strawberry,

Danced a square step with a wink.

Shaking off its dust and tears,

Dashing off into the sunset.

For she, she saw the world as it was.