(« Glass of Beer and Playing Cards » by Juan Gris)
everyday was the same
but she wouldn't notice
oblivious to the game
that had become practice
well, many times she had
but she couldn't stand it
it always felt so bad
better to deny it
rising up as a ghost
toilet, table and toast
iron, shower and post
conform, comply and coast
first stumper of the day
what to wear to the store
while lessons on the way
keep knocking at the door
off to the job she hates
though everything she needs
is handed on her plates
from products to the leads
she can point the finger
but don't try to blame her
her world getting smaller
as if maimed by cancer
dreaming of lottery
while waiting for her turn
windfall sufficiency
so her work she can spurn
a life devoid of zest
and far from effortless
the devil she knows best
a routine comfortless
and when on vacation
only once in a while
it's the same stagnation
agonizing lifestyle
the world offers itself
in numerous chances
she excuses herself
same old songs and dances
which beverage to taste
which tv show to run
her time ticking to waste
while she sleeps in the sun
and then back to the house
the game of cat and mouse
catering to her spouse
really who is the louse
freedom is calling her
but it'll wait after
the day's second stumper
what to cook for supper
then it will be too late
first bottle of a crate
all troubles will sedate
and liberty negate
consistently drowning
the upsetting feeling
ignoring the meaning
avoiding awaking
falling asleep hammered
in front of the tv
her progression deferred
by bottled gravity
all day long inflating
a promising balloon
but always puncturing
before reaching the boon
deprived of what is dear
the nightmare of the past
living her life in fear
only prolong the fast
drinking her dreams away
as she did yesterday
sobbing that everyday
is always the same day
having gone all the way
for carefreeness to ache
it had been hell to pay
now it was time to wake
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