Employment contracts,
important though they may be,
are not page-turners.

Turn on the oven.
Retrieve a day-old baguette.
Treat yourself to ham.

Whose toy gun is this?
It sure looks realistic,
sitting in the grass.

Leftover remnants,
as in remnants of old food,
smell downright awful.

Check out this sweater.
Revel in its gaudiness.
It is a Cosby.

Surrender my blood?
Surrender it for testing?
Now I feel woozy.

Dozens of pigeons,
maybe hundreds of pigeons,
fidget above me.

The sounds of vomit,
clear and unmistakable,
pierce the quiet dawn.

Colorless peaches,
crunchy, bland, and waterlogged,
offend the palate.

Sleep, beautiful sleep,
I love you and I need you,
now more than ever.