Lori describes her bed
as a sack of potatoes
and her pillow
as a bread loaf full of hungry mice.
Of course she is in her cups.
Of course she feels an ache for connection.
It is the hour of brag
that men label happy
where work-day stomach pains
relax with applied poisons.
Of course she wants someone in her life
to break up with.
Far away in Ukraine
fourth cousins three times removed
fight an enemy armed with lies
that generate a holy sense of purpose.
Of course Lori does not think about it
at a conscious level.
Lori is dimly aware she survives
a toxic, sexist digital workplace
drinking until everyone goes home
and the door shuts her out.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney