Hors de Combat

She can't seem to see beyond the beyond -

sleeping badly before the Big Bang,

killing time outside the Universe.

None of it compares to your 4 o'clock,

now she has problems.

I've heard she growls like a dog,

howls when hungry. Feel pity,

think cleverly, say nothing.

Maybe she'll get there. Maybe

we're all lined up at the edge,

dropping clichés like greasy plates.

Maybe we play with words

like awaiting the unexpected,

shocked by the predictable;

clearing out the cupboard

and putting it all in there,

over and over, forever.