Brenda discovered a new game during our training session. Three-line stanzas were written by me, and the two-line stanzas were written by her.

While sun sets on
hazy streets, chill clouds rise
over wearied monitors.

Fireflies wink softly
as faces reflect harsh light

of gridded sheets that cover
but provide no warmth
or comforting cells.

Numbers dance and blur
as I fall into daydreams of you.

Flying toasters
stream across my closed eyes
while a Harvest Moon takes flight.

Whales swim in a sea of tulips
and dance across the sky,

colliding with the toasters,
browning nicely on each side.
Country crock

and rhubarb jam, a checkered blanket,
perfect spring feast.

Checks transform
with requisite explosions
into malformed datablocks.

Like winter, work intrudes again;
Data are not flowers.

Like or and not is null,
like or and not is null,
like or and not blargh.

I crave music, song, dance!
I delete my stupid reports.

But it deters me.
Changes have been made,
Think about what you have done.

I think, then scoff. Walls cannot
hold me tonight. Run away!

Like fox bounding rivers
to hide scent, we pour coffee
down gurgling throats.

Focus! Details are critical.
Format them wisely.

Wisdom looks like Whiskey
when you’ve had enough or
maybe not enough.

No matter how much of both you have
blue and orange hurts,

though blue plus orange
under a rising moon
brings me home – Alabama

Ah, sweet victory. Time is up;
and we must adjourn.

Monitors to rest as
damp shoes tread to waterlogged cars.
Clouds depart.

And we rest, dreaming sweet dreams,
until tomorrow.