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.