Irony Lily

Irony Lily
I'll be the fake in your
condolences, gently
useless,
I'll be a
staff (I suppose), a cue
voice in
your waterproof, seething
limesong.

You spend he rest of the day
on your knees, in half-light
scraping – invested
fully in your persona
to tote, to tangle up in everyone
so spritefully, right?

I'll spend the rest of the year
sleeping tight, in your
bathtub, useless:
I'll consume water to
write these words down,
looking upwards
all the time.