Runcible Spoon

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Traffic Lights Changing Teams


Imagine my surprise –

that the dead are still the living

in some tired cosmic lotto


running a waterfall of dirty tap water

over my hands and thinking

of soap.


When I woke up this morning

work was still work.  You got paid

and someone expected you to be there

which is different than a bribe.  A bribe

means they want you even if they can’t

afford you, while a job means they

own you on the cheap.


And it is not until your days off

that you realize what it means

to be on.  Not all the time like some

fidgety brain surgeon of questionable hygiene,

but enough to think of traffic lights

changing teams.


The way you sit up in the dark

to make sure you are not in a coffin.


There’s an election in two years.

Someone will vote for someone else

which won’t mean anything

at all.


And the cat rubbing between my legs

wants food.  Love perhaps, but most definitely

food.  And the moment I crack the can

we grow vocal.  The window open for air

even though they say it’s polluted.