The pet names fly down the hallway,
Pudding, Butterscotch, Lurch...
The worst names ricochet like racquetballs,
usually after cheap beer, not the better Scotch...
The lunch words oil splotch the paperbags,
Flybynight Focaccia, why do they line thermoses with glass?
The passenger calls shotgun, putting walls up
for the slower runners, who only get to honk, beep cheer...
Ratchet up the volume, more Magnetic Fields than REM,
cause Science is for the vibrant thermal reactors, girls.