Tipping Point

Photo: DenPotisev for iStock

Half-past one,
the tot was crying.
Quarter-past two,
cat meowing and yowling.
Five-to-three,
piss.
Ten-to-four,
a third-class dream.
Twenty-to-five,
spiritual popcorn.
At six,
the sun of June.
I’m at the tipping point now.
10% acidic and
23 times more f-up.
Then comes
the e-mail.
“………….
…………..
…………..”
Apocalypse
begins.

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