Ordinary Hope

“Ordinary hope,” the suit on the set says. 

“He even bores the socks off humanity,” I sigh. 

Suddenly, the clock dims. 

A parkin scent swims. 

An old-oak voice mist-whispers, 

“Please pass me my hope and my slippers”. 

Flickers of liquors. 

And those tablets, in bathtubs, bone-white.