In 2045, Maurice enjoyed
The last unplanned unpleasant day -- a dead
And melting Thursday. Later, they deployed
The Grid and ended it: the rain (They said:
"It stank of coal-dust!"), and the heat (They said:
"It felt oppressive!"). He remembers -- drumming
His fingers on his scalp, a plump, unwed
Mumeishi brushing thinning hair -- humming
Off-key -- his piquant after-shave debasing
His sense of this, the rapid anti-Shivan
Annunciation -- unknown pairs embracing
And saying, "We have something to believe in."
Indeed, there's no more time; Maurice,
In tune and harmonized, made Thursday cease.
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