cough, cough* my brother jested that if I keep this up I'll resemble General Mattis (sp?) soon was not entirely a joke, I suspect.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXIV)


Fatigue.  What 'zactly is't?  My birthday thence
Mere hours from now (I text YOU), work in pale
Excuse leaves me too zonkered in betrayl
To even...finish?!  Yes.  Three pieces hence
Of dainty purple lingerie for sense
Lie in the laundry basket, cold, sans bail
Quite wrinkled where lo, midnight'd tiptoe: hail
Me with my sorry failings sans defense?
From washing floors, I vacuum in a tour
Through Monday's tasks, with turkey soup to do
As twere me in, was that? The fresh-cleaned crew
Of clothes saw how what is't again?  Tis poor
I could not pull that off.  And then to stir
Old cries for babies augurs what, think you?

26Nov18b