A Prelude to a mundane life

Pigeons coo on a sunny morning,

The broom cries coarsely,

The man wails, “Tomato, tomato”.

 

The newspaper lands with a thud on the porch,

The alarm goes with a snooze of a temptation

And a mat of dead drunken mosquitoes.

 

The triumph of one evening  

Becomes the madness of the day ahead

And the soothing calm of the dark night.

 

The urbane dead celebrate stubbed cigarettes,

And breathe in an empty bottle

Where unwashed dishes is a new metaphor.

 

Where earning and credit cards are none-of-your business

Where crying is a useless ploy

And laughing a sadistic relief

 

The tube is a compulsive irritant

“How many bodies?” cries the insufferable

You zap and yawn and well...

 

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