in repetitious themes
A poem.
always with my head in the clouds
thinking out loud
at work and on the couch.
sometimes i cry
but it’s only fleeting
when i remember in whose bed i’m sleeping.
even though the sheets are Gluckstein Gode,
the floor still feels good after i’ve shot my load –
every day, waiting to explode
then collapse into dark of the shared abode.
i can’t even watch Married With Children anymore.
“i know COVID is tough but stick with it:
we have 15 episodes to shoot and print.”
in the ’90s the worst you had to contend with
was the dog trying to get into Katey Sagal’s widget.
i’m standing outside having a smoke
watching the jogger watching me take a toke
then i look away first but she runs in that direction
and the whole ordeal turns into a yoga pant inspection –
“hey buddy! i remember you
from back in the day!
and i was just driving by this way,
and even though we haven’t spoken in forever
i just wanted to say “hey!”
whenever wherever!”
a car obnoxiously honks its horn as it passes.
i butt out my ashes.
//jf 9.5.2021
Photo by Hamid Tajik on Pexels.com
“Gode” – name: A surname (very rare: popularity rank in the U.S.: #84515)
According to WordNet (whatever that is)
theory of a daskeman 