Arrogance makes your words
sound of howling dogs.

They fall from your mouth, in
lifeless idioms you call poetry.

A lazy glance up from the keyboard and I meet the eight eyes of doom.
Fuck.
My thoughts slip out from underneath me,
Two legs worthless against the icy battlefield of nature.

Holiday tomorrow: I’ve got to pack.
A fortnight’s break—there’s lots to pack.

At least a dozen detective novels
Riddled with serpentine plots to pack.

The white square bowls
with their curved sides
align in the dishwasher
neatly overlapping.

Sample man
Sample man
Handing out crackers all day
That’s an ample plan
People ran
When his shift began