One day, he woke up; in his hand, a cup
not that this was any worse; his life was a little curse
even the coffee tasted like toffee
different, not himself, someone else, a shelf
absent of books he would read; he saw tall trophies instead
yesterday, he slept until his wife wept
he woke, she was gone; my God, what went wrong
each sip he took, he felt great; but whose life was this mistake
winter, he was warm inside, he felt calm
only, it was night; they had had a fight
kiss and make up, now, no chance; with whom would he learn to dance
each moment felt strange; he longed for the grange
underneath the skin, his flesh, it seemed thin
perhaps he would soon awake, as himself again, no shake
in another world, a red flag unfurled
no one ever knows how politics goes
he, too, soon awoke, a joke; why in God's name was he broke
in his hand, a rope to hoist; what a dope
sucker to the charm; to raise the alarm
how to make sense of the change; how they make to disarrange
ask himself but who; the state has a clue
no one but the state who decides his fate
decides, without any choice; no one ever has a voice
actively resist, no one would insist
create sense afresh, but now he must thresh
until the blue corn husks fall, he found meaning, he felt small
pray tell, his dimple, his chin, so simple
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