Dreaming
Barking in her sleep,
The holiday over,
Monday rises again,
I may not fail.
Empty Spaces.
I fall behind,
The scab itches terribly,
Scratch it again,
A bug bite, from days ago.
Still here. Now.
Everyone’s irritated over nothing,
It will be OK, the man says,
Dismissively to the woman,
Holding the protest sign.
“Why then, am I here?”
Forty-eight years of age on a Saturday,
Reading sci fi stories and dog training,
Both attempts to communicate,
But we’re no longer doing it.
Waking.
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