Why They're Winning the War

Alan P. Scott - Verses

late start

     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

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