apparently still not summer

I saw the president this morning
taking breaths of solid rain
as the economy was growing,
on its usual way down the drain.
He waved and smiled, so reassuring,
wearing his Sunday purple cape
as he jogged around in his helmet
for fear that his thoughts might escape.

Over there, there was a silver marmot
stuffed inside a flying saucer's exhaust pipe,
you would like to think about it
but the time may not be ripe.
It seemed to be dreadfully disgusted
and would prefer to go back to bed
as the Martians flew to warmer climates
through clouds that were painted lead.

By the rotten seashore the dizzy bees
are buzzing to find their way back home,
I meant to ask them for directions
but felt I' d better let them roam.
The professor watched them flying about
preparing his next Nobel-winning speech
as the slave ship had just run aground
and all hope was out of reach.

Now, there's an unemployed programmer
and he's sculpting pink balloons
with his square head uncovered
slightly exposed to the monsoons.
His subconscious is so structurally different
from most fellas you would meet
on a random Tuesday morning
at the side of this sweaty street.

And, me, I was only having breakfast,
meditating in the haze,
when I tried to invent a tragic scene
going on in some man's mind's maze.
Then the early fog got thicker
and the actors staged a balcony,
as the neighbours stood there with indifference
and pretending agony.