Beers in hand,
government pens pocketed,
neighbor underneath talking
green grass,
isolated whispers and
loud nice declarations:
day to you, day for it, time to have.
Talking the neighborly talks of
one soon lost. talking,
listening to what suits him.
Two dudes sit above him, smirking,
listening to words they vow never to speak,
waiting for a chirping bird to give from her beak.
waiting until the day their government
pens are the ones to speak:
the secrets everyone keeps,
the fantasies each of us seek,
tragedies we can’t avoid,
disasters we deploy,
monsters in mind,
tipping their caps to the men in their hearts
they wait a couple more years to become.