Not tonight.
No he said she said.
No ping pong either.
No! Table tennis
is ping pong by another name.
Not fair of you to try to slip one by me.
I am tired and U. S. Grant’s migraine
infects my left hemisphere.
Yes. The brain. I feel blurry.
So now you think
we are a few hours from surrender.
Oh, how Appomattox of you.
This bedroom is not
Wilmer McLean’s parlor on April ninth.
Good night, dear.
Roll over and fall asleep
with your arm around the dog.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney