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April 6 - What Did the Fox Say?

So, here's how it all goes to Hell in a gaily beribboned hand basket;

The mist marches in
the birds don't sing
No one cares if it's day or night;

Blinking, unbrushed,
outside in
my tartan robe -

privately pausing to admire the sage,
I am engaged in conversation
by a rogue passing fox;

He's smiling, teeth showing,
lips moving, killer eye contact,
but I can't make out a word he's saying;

My hearing aids lie,
beside my spectacles,
beneath the reading lamp beside my unmade bed.

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Haha! Love this!