I thought Pigs on the Wing

      would be a nice song to wake

to, so each morning at Reed

      when I would look to see bare

branches, hoar-

      frost grass, I would detest

those words: you know that I care,

      that hovered above my poly-
ester blanket.

Selassie is the Chapel seemed fitting

      after I dropped out, but now

Marley's voice reawakens the itch

      lathed over my body

by fleas bred

      in the carpets and sheets.

Presently a shrill

      monophonic ring

disrupts my rest,

      and I walk to cook eggs

in my flat's kitchen.

I don't think I will change

      this tone; it may

be the best sound of all.