A hard game | Autocento of the breakfast table

You think building Hoggle’s a hard game?
You know bunk. Writing a ghazal’s a hard game.

Let’s meet in a place where words & fabric play—
but not plastic words. (Boggle’s a hard game.)

A cookout where we can hash our differences
over steak, though making it sizzle’s a hard game.

Let’s go to a brothel, rub shoulders with bare
shoulders, or a bar. Being wastrel’s a hard game.

Maybe we could switch professions, you and I,
you write the poems, I’ll puppet Fozzie—a hard game.

When you call me, you never say my name.
Creativity’s a hose—shutting the nozzle’s the hard game.