Friday, January 12, 2018
The directive clear:
Do not dream of yellow flowers!
She didn’t know if it was the
unredeemable rebel in her,
but, sure enough, that very
first evening...
And at the end of the week,
there she was on the famous bus.
Where everyone cautioned–-
in code–-exactly what to answer
the examiners.
Oh well, not a care, since this
government was toppling due to
terminal absurdity.
It did. While she waited her turn.
So instead of answering a supremely-
stupid time-serving psychologist,
she drew the very warm and funny
Carl, who remained in silly and
mismatched uniform.
Insisting on tea and telling jokes.
She hadn’t laughed in so long.
Really laughed, not bitter-edged.
When Carl shook her hand, the return
bus waiting, she still had to linger.
And linger. “I’m not letting you go!”
“Same here!” answered he.
Labels: coup, political absurdity, Romance, tyranny
