Then you would become a sous-chef
slathered with olive oil for the full catastrophe,
keenly aware of the archival method
of posthumous publication
especially when the sommelier
training for the Leadville 100
would take you to the wine cellar
for a peek at his training log . . .
Chaos under the guise of calm reigned . . .
You would reciprocate whenever possible
with quick-study dioramas
and modifications to the soaking tub . . .
The tenor of those days was typically dictated
by the nature of the homework assignment
which as contracted had to be completed
after assuming three of the five yoga poses
emailed in the wee hours . . .
That confusion was always bright
in the hillocks surrounding the lap pool
mattered little . . .
