I am sorry to report that this young man’s

ideas have gotten too big for his head and now

they are really becoming unpleasant to some

unsuspecting passers-by, obeying even the most

obscure laws of fluid mechanics and slopping out

of his precocious little ears by the dumpster-full,

idea-plop-idea-plop is the noise they make, just

like that, a smarmy know-it-all drizzle into oily

sidewalk rainbows that bedazzle and, it must be

said, annoy, you can’t drive down main street

without squashing a shag carpet’s worth of little

leggy ideas, and the stench, hoo boy, somebody

really ought to come up with a big idea for how in

the heck we’re going to clean this rotten mess up,

now that would actually be useful, instead of this

putrid rubbish, this awful young man’s big ideas.