The Languorous Life

In a poem, she wrote
of the languorous life
of a cut and waiting rose.
I’m not a rose
but I suppose
I, too, these days
live a languorous life
in light of all of life’s strife
accentuated
by a government attenuated —
thin, weak, inconsequential
like wimps
or as one pundit put it —
the president’s pimps.

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