What’s the time?
She asks thru’ the ajar door.
It’s 14:31 he replies
sitting at his wood-lam desk
in their tiny kitchen.
He prepared coffee in the
tumbler pot with filter
he calls the Dripp
as the badly designed snout
always dribbles
if you poured the slight bitter
brew.
He drinks one cup or two
per day
but she’ll drink 4-6 cups
even one cup at midnight.
He rather prefers
cannaboidal tea late night
for the sake of sweet sleep.
The more she’s agitated
with matters trivial to his
own taste
the more he trains his mind
at a site called: the free
dictionary and thesaurus.
There’s time to select a cover
for his book Short Stories VII –
He translated into German:
Kurzgeschichten VII.
He’ll publish it on XinXii
an imprint of a company
associated with faber&faber
publishers
who fobbed him off before:
We do not take such poems.
(Such as? He asked but got
no answer).
While at a warehouse for
bedlinen
he met a woman who gladly
assisted him with buying
a cushion and a bedspread
cover.
She liked his artistic
appearance and asserted
being glad of helping him.
His spouse B disliked her
for sticking to her husband.
He had to smile. He’s liked.
It’s nothing serious he pacified
his irritated wife
who carried on regardless
to scold his behavior.
LIKED.DEKIL
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’17.