The cantaloupe lady is ringing my bell,
again. This should really stop. If I could,
I would wish that I could make her go away—
but the problem, the problem
is that I don’t think
that it’s her who’s doing it:
I think it’s the melon.
Everything is contingent
on it’s steady approach.
I don’t think the sun will come up
unless it’s possible
for the day to clear a path.
I think the best thing would be
for someone to beat me,
maybe with a stick,
until I say, “Day is night! Day is night!”