Light from two bulbs drapes over my bathroom mirror; 
One filament severed and the other quite near. 
Steam fogs my reflection from the uselessness of the shower. 
A familiar feeling of my lungs: wrangled and floundered. 
 
Sago by my sill, most placate, my mind. 
A kind sight to your eye; you'd die for a bite. 
White-potted for pleasantries, and loved to a tee. 
Mutualistic co-habitants in a cycle of exchanging O2 for C. 
 
Television and cell phone stream from their screens unattended. 
They talk to me, though the book in hand gets my undivided attention. 
Reading glasses camp on my ridge aiding independent exploration.
I pay no mind to any Fox that would have me abdicate cogitation. 
 
Bedroom doors bear no privacy, but it's paper tigers you fight. 
Scissors to fend for theatrics against hollow prowls and self-righteous pride. 
They binge on rags and cake and cognac as their quill carves the worker's wage.
I ponder if '32, '63, '99, and Occupy of '11 tell '25's fate.



Wednesday 19 March 2025