Lunch Hour

I’m here at work
On my lunch hour
Typing what I have seen
And felt and heard,
Trying to throw a net
Over a short span of time.

Ed wants to take mescaline.
He got the idea from some book.
Ed writes haikus. His latest
Is about chairs taken away
From old men and given
To the young.

(PS―Ed himself is old.)

Now the phone rings. The caller is someone
Who doesn’t want me in the way that I want her.

Now I am checking the air fares to Florida.
My sister-in-law has a spare bedroom.
My brother is dead. Is this a problem?

Now I am writing last night’s dream
Of a penis growing out of my knee
With the firmness of a wilted stalk.

Now I am eating.
Peanut butter and pita bread and an orange.
An unvaried diet for the last few days.
Counting the pennies so things
Don’t fly apart.

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