I toldja I was trouble. 9am
Keeps sliding by the wayside. Keep your job,
We'll need it for the cover charges. When
And what and where... consume it to the cob

And let the others snuffle after that.
They get the fallen tassels. You get this.
You take el luchador down to the mat.
There's photographic evidence. You sit

Where no one else can ride. Do not disturb
Until the second workshop. Keep their hands
Where you can see them. Out here in the burbs
We don't leave the hotel. I give commands

And, answering, you chuckle to yourself.
You share the interest. But you keep the wealth.

Tags: monday fourteen, poetry, sonnets