Well, here we are, another
Friday in paradise. And on
this soft and muted day
of high gray air, in which
the birds have gone to ground,
sleeping off the seeds pecked
from the good earth in yesterday’s sun,
our property taxes are due.
Dead line.
Just thought I’d bring it up,
to help you out.

Here’s a real poem now:

Rondelet
by Anonymous

I never meant
For you to go. The thing you heard
I never meant
for you to hear. The night you went
away I knew our whole absurd
sweet world had fallen with a word
I never meant.