GETTING BACK ON TIME
The news-guy says the infrastructure's
breaking down - what the hell would
he know about that, I want to say back.
Four-eyed flaneur with male perfume
and a three-minute attention span that's
gone too soon, even then. He rambles
on with a stupid smile, as if to say the
caves on fire but the flames are mild.
-
He gets me as angry as this automatic
spelling thing - words I never sought
come spewing out and act distraught.
'You've altered me sentence again,
you bastard hen!'
-
Mustard seed and a gargoyle fence,
with little faces at every corner. Who
would know the meaning now? All
those faces are dead, and the gate
doesn't work. It stopped hingeing
years ago, and now the sumac tree
has grown onto the latch. So much
for any of that.
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