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Eaten away by fear of boredom
her mind an empty biscuit wrapper
filled with bric-a-brac from

encyclopedias and antique shops
she sits close to the phone
waiting to be tempted
by a crumb from a gossip column
or a passing aquaintance
with an intellectual erection


Nothing surprises her these days
she’s seen monotony give birth
to tangled enlightenment
spawn on to paper, canvas or program note
to become acclaimed examples of avante gards

She’s been to all the latest shows
waited often in the rain
for the last lonely taxicab home and
some political trivia over the bridge

across the city to her museum
of an apartment.  Boredom’s the real
enemy, isn’t it darling


Her cigarette droops on its holder
no lipstick smears on filters for her
to remind her of her mother and her
distant innocence

Long after midnight

she disappears into her nightcap

or swallows a sleeping pill
to snatch an hour or two of blankness
from the daily din

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© Johnmichael Simon



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