Rigmarole

The newsies scattered,
hawking the Daily Rigmarole
to Monday commuters
who never complained
that all the names changed
but the headlines stayed the same.

69/365

A version of this poem first appeared on Bluesky. Whispered into the acoustic sensors of the sleeping dreaming android, it prompted the electric sheep to generate one more tomorrow…

The AI rendered this poem as a group of newsies riding public transportation while reading the newspapers they seem to have purchased from each other. A very strange scenario.