To Hamlet Sr. - Poem by Jerome Fuseau
Sit next to me on the bed,
There is still a little vodka
But the tap will never run out of water.
Yes, there is such a mess.
Why would there be neatness -
It would turn to mess again.
'Why would there be mess -
It would turn to neatness again' you could ask,
But you are behaving like a huffish old man,
Not even saying a single word.
It doesn't bother me.
Just sit there as long as you wish.
Or try to change these lightbulbs.
You don't want to. Fine.
Then why did you come here? Why did I call you?
I don't want anything. It is your turn.
At least say that we're wasting
Each others time.
That would make sense.
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