Morning breaks without bombs.
The sun's sharp rays invade this little room,
Where lies our son who will not go to war
Unless he wants to. Who will not starve.
And still we worry -- criticize each other
In perfect safety, relative tranquility
We feel besieged, by sharp words wronged.
We all were bred for battle.
When sleep deprived he whimpers,
My frustration fires. A father
Who's held his son raggedly dying
Can't have a night like this.
Monday, February 27, 2017
The drunk fool enthuses
Haberdashery,
Absurdly froofy name for hat store
Grandiloquently calling forth pomades and handlebar mustaches,
The drunk fool enthuses, laying into the surf-pounded sand brick after brick of unlikely truth.
The little man who should know less than his father but knows more anticipates failure even as he desperately longs for daddy's scheme to pan out. It never does. The dust in the pan never even covers their expenses. It never will, will it?
Absurdly froofy name for hat store
Grandiloquently calling forth pomades and handlebar mustaches,
The drunk fool enthuses, laying into the surf-pounded sand brick after brick of unlikely truth.
The little man who should know less than his father but knows more anticipates failure even as he desperately longs for daddy's scheme to pan out. It never does. The dust in the pan never even covers their expenses. It never will, will it?
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