You never judge me.
Cash or credit?
Whichever makes me happy.
And the card I insert?
The magnetic strip can face either way.
Very thoughtful.

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.