The Great Design

It's all one, Munchkin-
architecture and dishcloths.
Imported beasts of formidable pedigree
quickly end up with disgruntled insides-
the same laws still apply to them, mostly;
why nudge forward at the lights?
The sable and mink of their paintjobs
can barely disguise the tinted-windowed
souls within.
Imagine a nation sans flags. Or a tree.
It's that simple -plant an idea,
let it flap in whatever breeze is coming
off the disputed ocean.
Sundays the two old couples
take a tour of the neighbourhood
on their cast iron bikes
-the men pedalling like Clydesdales,
their wives side-saddle behind them,
I could almost believe the world
cups an ear...

Oh god of the rainless
cloud and pigeonwing
let me survive the stopsigns,
don't let me die 'til she's a doctor.