Hardly ever never, but sometimes always.
Eighty-nine at least, and twice on Sundays.
The square root of fifty, minus your bus fare.
Two cherries, three kumquats, one mango and a bear.
The year 1840 on the West coast of Panama.
201 Main Street, Broadmoor Heights, Omaha.
Every fifth Tuesday, except in April.
A hitherto unknown subspecies of maple.
From under two seconds to up to a month.
If blue, three or four, but the yellow ones once.
Home-grown rhubarb and the juice of an orange.
A little less paisley and a little more fringe.
You’d think so, yes, but it’s not really silver.
Porcupine petals and daffodil fur.
A word that appears in all prayers but no hymns.
Answers without questions, and titles without poems.