Still dark out

Movement and rustling sounds roused Max from a heavy sleep.
It was still dark. He saw that Hazelís ass was parked,
her body disappearing halfway through the window curtains.
She was looking for morning light for certain.
Hazel he noted, was fully dressed.
Her outfit sharply pressed.
Max could not hear a single note from the birds.
Nor an alarm had he heard.
Was Hazelís clock out of stock, maybe needing a whack.
Under some new menopausal attack.
Her emotions stretched on emotionís rack.
Her time and mind energy hacked.
Max realized he was sleepy as heck and,
he would not allow Hazel his morning rest to wreck.
In between dozing off, he heard the bang of the side door,
and the garage emptied in a muted roar.
Still dark out. Still no bird song about.
Max was too sleepy to rout his bed covers
or even after Hazel to shout whatever.
Obliviousness courted perfidiousness.
Her mind captured in corporate insidiousness.
Max Ďs head sank into his pillow like a heavy stone.
The breaking up of his morning rests wearied him to the bone.
For Hazel there was no fix for her,
well not of earthly manufacture.
That her home lamp was broken
remained largely unspoken.
In love there were no hostage tokens,
to ransom the corporate broken,
feeding on narratives woken,
not even by their bespoken.
The modern plantations rewarding obedient inaction.
A sure precursor to intellectual infarction.

CI-50623921749 Knight Truelove Poems