#2,603 That age yet

Have you got to that age
yet when you place stuff
on a low table aside your
seat & in that state yet of
wishing others dead – yet
nothing shifts – remote &
‘phone in reach – enough
to kill each cold evening –
you’re tuned to dumb TV
& thousands of channels
of doltish reruns [dicks &
gumshoes shuffle] – Have
you got to that age yet – a
night-shift ahead of static
dreams & a bedside table
on which you put a watch
that plots your every step