“who made irony the rich one?” you ask yourself.
the dueling pianists draw no swords, and the master fencer no blood.
the earlier you leave for work, the quicker you arrive. no cooperation from clock or stoplights.
your alarm clock works flawlessly on weekends.
you always catch ocean’s eleven at the same scene,
right after the one with a bare-chested brad.
this week, wrinkle the irony-ed plot.
shake things up, show predictable who’s boss.