A few months ago, Gail Mazur read Elise Partridge (1958-2015) poems at the Blacksmith House that were delightful, amusing, sour. So, I went to look up some more and particularly like this one from the Poetry Foundation. Especially the ending imperative:
Slit open his mattress, insert two stinking trout,
tip last week's beers over his speakers,
and light out.