steps faltering as we break into free day
blank and white alternating
in a subliminal flicker that stabilizes,
rolling old TV trick,
into the real world, sunshine venetian slices
across the faces of the clowns
in the chair across the room.
Bozo approves.
red hair sprawled on the pillow
awakens to hot greasy spatterings from the stove
her head, eggs and toast and coffee
aches, on a tray
he sits on the edge, looking down
her eyes, the eggs
no, that's just too low
her eyes, she closes, smelling steam
from the cup
she picks up her fork
and digs in
shadow zebra slips out of sheets
scurries undercover
of the robe, belted, tied
to the shower where she just takes it off
to get in
she soaps up with a little unexpected help
he joins in enthusiasm
for the regulation five minutes
as they stretch to fifteen
the day half over
and we haven't got anything done!
fortunate ones,
lazy ones--our ideal anymore is to do nothing
and we succeed
despite all efforts
in the end
Original content on this page © Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.
Contact me:
ascott@pacifier.com