It is difficult, with the warmth of a small dog in my lap;
to write about the stream of
terrorized, displaced people
Oh, how hard it is, in my rocking chair by my fireside;
to compose a poem
about a man’s anguish
from entering a burning house
to save his wife and children.
What a burden I must bear, such choices I must make:
What shoes to wear to afternoon tea?
I have an avocado that must be used!
Wherever did I leave my rings?
Have you seen my keys?
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