TV blaring,
Though not loud enough
to cover that persistent barking
of those who have nothing to do
but gargle on their shishas and
speak nonsense for extended
periods of time while the world
watches in an intense wait that
could only be compared to that
yearning sensation children feel
as they wait for the ice-cream
cart that never comes but is
now face down in some ditch,
with those delicious treats melting
away like the dreams of those who sit,
and do nothing more than sit in the streets
of the city that wouldn't sleep, as their wives,
also sitting, watch TV with the lights dim,
wearing those red nightgowns that once fit so nicely,
now split at the seams and properly deteriorated
from all these nights they have been worn in hopes that they would move something,
anything at all in the hearts
of their husbands, but soon
the wives realize that their
is no hope, so they linger,
dumb-faced, in front of
their living room televisions,
blaring with lies and much
nonsense equivalent to
those told by the men
who are still sitting
there clutching
those tubes with
smoke wafting out
of their clogged
up noses.