Our stars align. We go all out to fool folks
with our key to the city made of gold.
I find you in the kitchen with a banana.
How can I be so cold? I change the subject,
feeling inadequate. Sign me up for a lack of
focus, a paltry article on Whitman, Red River,
2010, 2004, homosexual San Francisco,
attributed to Twain, my biggest problem.
Then walk away. To auto. Automobile.
Remember to focus on that game.
