cassava

“maybe i think you work too much,” she says
and knows she’s right.   so there’s this little curse imposed upon
and maybe it’s justice or maybe it’s irony or maybe it’s
the universe  always being funny
/
there used to be dreams atop blue bedsheets
with no headboards and dirty left-walls with feet imprints
still lovers who never want to get up early              is this       justice?
think about irregular family dynamics
“you can stay at home you know”
but i know he doesn’t care for femuhnism just wants to not
do things
/

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