work
i imagine myself in the woods.
with a can of beans
over an open fire. my
fingerless gloves clutching
a tin mug
full of maxell house coffee.
i hear a train going by,
the lonesome refrain
of a harmonica by a toothless
man in a long coat
leaning against a tree
relieving himself.
i quickly call my broker and
snap out of it.
i ask her, how we doing Lisa?
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