“Go stand behind the guy with the grey hair.”
“That’s gross. Did she actually say that?”
Set my buzzer on the chair right next to me
Among the crumbs where a crumbled someone sat
I meander out of the loyal meter
Of the country-western number playing back.
Egg and cheese on an Asiago bagel
Verse contrived like my Sunday morning snack.
And this light roast blend
Is sure to send
My senses into spiral
With no sobering end.
Keep them together
Like the Chicago weather.
Got to go.