MY LAZY PROSE, SLEEPING

I like the blind guy in the gym
because he holds his cane two inches off the floor.
The skinny older lady with the bikini-like tights.
Well, I call them bikini-like.
Is on the treadmill making hay.
I will never know what that means.
Nor hay alas will e’er I make.
Ten years ago I said, “I bet I will never hear
‘Stairway to Heaven’ again.” But look at me here now
will you. There goes curly top Robert Plant on the loudspeakers
and I am making hay which ne’er I durst thought I may.

There’s a lady who's sure, that’s for sure.

I call the blind guy Mr. B. Guy.
I call the bikini lady Robert Oppenheimer.
I could use an energy drink, Bob says.
Love is fission. Let’s go out where it’s bright
and sunny. Let’s see what the hell is up next.
And whatever it is, it’s outside for sure.