it's morning, you son of a bitch
the yellow machinery hums
someone nearby is playing drums
badly

but to be fair
i've done my share
of drumming
lately

a progressive radio personality
compares israel to nazi germany
i pause to let the pain find harmony
with the tired torso over half-boiling oats

in the shadow of a shadow
pennies hide from dollar bills
having never learned that hiding kills
the possibility of being worth something more