Your bad hours fizz

in a squirming glass,

and as cheery as they

had previously seemed

you require the waitress to

please change these flowers -

they're fake;

this head, please ... this universe ...

Hope the bellowing coffee

can fill you without any serious

danger of overflowing.

 

Yesterday

you only needed to pin down

the laughing words;

today you're their prisoner,

ask impossible questions

of the misting-over window.

 

Chances are you're at the birth

of the best poem you've never written.

 

(First published by ink sweat & tears, Aug. 2022)