Sunday, June 23, 2013

Summer Sonnet 36: Landlord Wars

My roommate txt'ed 'we need to talk.'
Ominous silence. I looked at the txt
and held the phone like dead weights as I walked
cursing bad timing and what was up nxt.

I'm told that we're at war with the landlord.
Instant dread at the obvious danger.
I'm dragged into seeking a peace accord,
while once again in the midst of anger.

My plane flies a few hours tomorrow
while hashing out a speaking agreement
dealing with my own karmic sorrow
of the world's anger that keeps getting sent.

I sit in Miami hours later
careful to cater both sides like a waiter.

- By Auirn Squire

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