Exquisite Corpse

I'm working on a larger piece at the moment, and it's not quite ready for the light of day. However, rules are rules, and I must publish something within a week of my precursor, the Chatty Bandit. So tonight, on my weekly date with my wife, we jointly wrote this poem in the exquisite corpse style over a cup of hot chocolate and a cup of tea, respectively. I'm not claiming it's good. However, it is, and so I publish it.

she stocked the closet
with piles of clothes
on shoulders and floors
and a boot
with a steel zipper
at least seven tattoos
that she found on TV
and reminded of moose in the road
a mother and her baby
both lumbering like giant wind-up toys
and elegant in the mist
the picture wondered
what would there be to see
next year, when the snows melt
we'll wander back
and pick the sugar-sweet onions
while a young girl from the country
asks if they have Arby's where you're from
of course. of course.
and my pretty pink tent
that colors everything inside pink
as if the film in your camera is too old
found four years later and
developed into something else
something you never expected
like a birthday present from your father
a necklace in an envelope
given through the mail
it arrived on the back of your
best man. He would play pool while
honky tonk favorites
rattled the banjos and pedal guitars
as if there were elephants in the room
ones you should introduce
your mom would like them
once she got to know their quirks
she found they were worth keeping in her closet.