The Architecture of Water Balloons and Why We Threw Them At You

Nosing Society Hall, clopping toward
the Four Corners of Law, that concord
of governing powers, Federal,
State, Municipal, and Episcopal,
the Confederate get-upped tour guide points
his driving whip at St Michael’s ladies.
“Those interested in a sweetgrass basket. . .”
We lobbed balloons fattened with faucet
water at those horse-drawn carriage tours
ambushing tourists, killing summer hours.
Hey, you gawkers you, there’s a delicate
architecture to water balloons. Note
the Corinthian burst pattern of their
splats (not the balloon chucker’s height/hair/clothes).
The old exchange – you invade our city,
crazy for Colonial symmetry,
we plan guerrilla attacks. Disarmed by
earthquake bolts and joggling boards, you sigh
“South of Broad” ignoring us, the rumbling hordes
kicking off the decks of  Walker skateboards.
But here’s how we construct water balloons.
We find a spigot, one with enough room
to nurse the rubber mouths we’re filling.
Not too much water pressure or the thing
will pop.  But fill it too little and it
will bounce after being tossed. Land it
just right… “Report!!!” “Wet latex shrapnel, Captain.
Insurgents. After they threw ’em, they ran.”
Down alleys, up walls, the holy city ours.
One way streets foil you drivers of rent-a-cars.
Can’t catch us, the wild heirs of the Hat Man’s,
Hazel’s charges, East Bay Playground‘s orphans.
Bowl cut, tow-headed trouble a-plenty.
Look, we see one ass pulling twenty!
August is deadly.  Temperatures rise.
Hurricanes threaten, so why not surprise
you tourists with prophylactic bombs.
What you gonna do about it, call our Moms?