1564

AT THE OPERA

Someone please advise the mayor
A good living comes from the sand
And our sunlit days away from the mess
Are the stinging's soft ruffled head.

Solitude. It feels like an apology
For wasting time.
I emerge a few questions away
From a new habit of thought.

We are out of bubble liquid.
Riding on his father's shoulders
A young boy calls out "Norma!"