exercise in staying still like that guy you read about in books

he wants the silence to move
her across the room. [punctuation? what?] she's broken
the daily monotony by showing
up. he slept funny last night with his head
in circles, and his legs
in crosses. she always sleeps
on her face. last night
she slept on her face. she looks like
she's a person who sleeps on her face.

they both guzzle their drinks.
and they try to shake the sleep from their limbs.



"Christ!," he finally yells,
and he slams his computer shut.

"Fuck almighty," she whistles under her breath.
he gets up and slams his drink on her table
as if his coffee was a tankard of ale and he a Norse warrior.
he shouts her down from the ledge of her chair.
she has too much to live for, he thinks.
she thinks she needs higher ground to deal with such an approach.
but she complies.
things are no longer as monotonous as they were moments ago.
they shout small talk till one wins.
no one wins.
they're stuck to their chairs.

"Let's order some more sand," he bellows.
"I can't, I'm outta change," she replies.
"How will we sleep on the beach then?"
"I don't know."


"Christ," she finally concedes.

not even an alarm could give pause to this.
they're committed now.
and like a child submerged to his head in sand,
they will have to wait with one another
until one of us poor sods has the decency to dig them out.