In the Window

Today is a cancelled stamp.
Stomping over the greenest of fevers,
I grope for something
I can really dig my fingers into.

The lingering sense of frustration
I get from living
with a lingering sense of frustration
is an occupational hazard.

I’m punctual, only at the wrong times.
How much longer
will my reflection endure
in the window?

-r. miller

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