drinks fall
to planned obsolescence
and my sturdy jawed boss
replaces my broken hand
with one filled with beer --

this continues for some time
and some time
until the Earth passes through
a patch in the universe
close to time’s childhood
and time decides to leave the bar

where he goes
only nobody can speculate
as I am left here to apologize
for speculating on time’s gender

Waking up is hard in worrisome anticipation.

Neatly layered blankets

hold

little heat.

Cold nips

at feet

through wool socks.

Skin

sweats

despite this.