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By John I. Blair

Even these bleary eyes
Half-glazed with weariness
Can sense the fibrous strength
Of sanseviera leaves
Bunched there on my desk
Erect and green.

My stuffy nose at length
Can still detect
The tantalizing
Promissory smell of lunch
Drifting in the
Perfectly proportioned air.

And dreary though my day
My tongue can taste
The wind-tossed grain fields,
Rain-bright vineyards
It took to make the trail mix bar
Iím munching just to stay awake.

©2004 John I. Blair

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