Nothing is working and I’m floating over the rusted pipes. Home.
How could this be? (Use robot voice for
all italicized phrases.)
He doesn’t spell too well but I’m getting tickled
midday, flying into my other life. It’s a nice change,
this midlife tickle. And I was just hoping for a friend, no lie.
The window rumbles with wind. The fog dampens the jet-roar.
(This tercet paid for by the year of the pill.)
He’s coming with coffee. Disregard any news.
The reference here is from before you were born
so brighten up and stop worrying about
who’s my type. Let’s play pool. I should be the catty one.
