He often thought in ticks and tocks.
She often drew in straight and sure.
They often said “yes” and “no” and certainly never “maybe”.
As if chance was something to tempt.
At a square table, in a perfectly plain house, they lived for far too long and yet never at all.
Outside the world was full of circles and incomplete things.
Around the bend were chances that could make a mother sick.
So they took a different pill: staleness.
It did not disappoint.
It delivered and they never danced.
Always complete and linear talk.
Never asking questions.