One Hundred Years of Solitaire

I’m already late as it is.
You’re as lovely as a first name,
the darling of the oyster bay.
I’ll warm the plates. You stay the same.

I’m mute as a fish when you say
‘I’m already late’. As it is,
we’re still harping on the same string.
As routine as hers is to his.

A born wittler, my dream logic
erring in the airing cupboard.
I’m all: ‘Ready? Late as it is,
none of my points have been covered’.

Blue Ribands after Soylent Greens.
Days on shutdowns. Nights at the quiz.
Sorry, I have to be going,
I’m already late as it is.