Waiting for a poem to come,
is a specific breed of tedium
which would have a lesser man,
undone.
Sitting bored on the porch
trying to express,
through my only medium.

It's now 7pm and
time to go to a meeting.
Living with a disease,
which through every pore,
is always secreting.

A busted water pipe in the winter,
can only turn the faucets on for an hour a day.
Wave to the missionaries in Kenya,
hey
hey
hey