Turning from the window, Gerald made as if to sneeze.
“Who’s allergies are these?” Ava snapped,
repenting only her apostrophe.

dragging down the dead
hallways of morning
I wonder what it all means
how sex and sustenance
had evolved
into the 8-hour job

for I just so prefer to discuss
myself. sometimes,
when patient Twelve gets whiney,
I jab her with
my pen – once –
twice –
“why are you doing this?”

I’d like just one—the upper left, why not,
indented there like the first
cookie cut into the sheet of dough—
to show off in becomingly posed photos.

Why do birds suddenly appear
every time you are near?
It must be the mealworms
that live in your ear.