FOES

 In front of me lies an open book; half torn, half crook.

Susan describes sands of dunes where Robinson cruised.

My vision enriches, my mind still unfocused, as

cricket the whiner on my window swatter,

chunters on the woozy boozer.

I almost get a hold on Friday,

until the girl next door realizes it is friday.

The last two decades’ bangers drown us all.

Better to leave this reading for another day,

I would call.