Ballade Of A Tin Soldier

I was changing the sheets like I do,

the pink ones for the gold this time.

I had the music on something noir.

It started like that, the way it used to

start; interesting, fascinating, sultry.

But quickly the color wasn’t there,

washed out like faded, superimposed

film. The music kept on and I went

back to my chore.

Nothing monumental about any of it.

I wish my life had more pizzazz,

I’d rather be done with it,

but I still have my chores.