The poems wrote their grandmother a letter, but their stamp was out of date by a penny.
The poems let the strawberry preserves get moldy and were scolded (it was home made!).
The poems antagonized each other because they loved each other fitfully and had to keep their hearts on the defensive.
The poems performed songs in wire but they remain unrecorded.
The poems looked so much like Denzel Washington they got kidnapped for ransom (3 million).
They poems became raw food vegans; the poems lost all their friends.
The poems pushed the cobbler’s price so low that after they left he considered early retirement. (But the poems’ moccasins have thick soles again.)
The poems filled out a March Madness bracket too early and got booed off the stage.
The poems mined their lungs for hymns.
The poems read “Into the Wild” while on summer vacation and now they’re out there…somewhere.
The poems could not decide who they liked more: Andre 3000 or Big Boi. The poems don’t know how they will ever decide.
The poems got lost in a canyon tunnel. Did the rats eat the poems?
The poems asked Eoin Cahill if you have to be tortured in order to be an artist, and he said, “If you’re not suffering, you’re not paying attention.” The poems were sitting shotgun. And nodding.
The poems expelled air from their orifices and were called Quite Crude.
The poems shaved off their eyebrows and broke a friend’s bed.
The poems enjoyed themselves by sharing a Dark Chocolate Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup in the car while listening to Ray Charles.
The poems made verbs out of infrequently-used nouns.
The poems missed dead people so much they found it difficult to talk to the living.
The poems succumbed to the constancy of Facebook and updated their status.
The poems wanted to get kissed like lovers but got slapped like thieves.
The poems imagined a ship where all their trinkets would be stored tightly and well, and she arrived in their harbor.
The poems reenacted the last scene of “Grapes of Wrath,” and some ladies were scandalized.
The poems partook in crawdads, but against their will.
The poems pursed their lips and therefore missed their mothers.
The poems wore their helmets.
The poems slipped everyone a love note when leaving, but no one ever wrote back.
The poems broke it off because she wasn’t Jewish.
The poems grew like figs on trees, but were ripe too quickly, and all at once.
The poems surmised that air conditioners were a major cause of the current lack of friendly sociability.
The poems picketed against their estrangement.

The poems picketed but they forgot their signs and the poems couldn’t find any paint to make new ones and it started to rain and no one was listening anyway and all the crows gathered around the poems like the Sharks or Jets from “West Side Story” and the poems threw up their arms and showed their unshavenness and missed the stopsign graffiti of their hometown and the minor loves they never nodded to and the smell of running through a sprinkler and the poems went home to put their heads on their pillows and did not wake until it was dark, until around the hour when everyone they loved had decided they would lay their heads down, too.