Poem one.

She can't admit she's crazy
She needs some sad excuse
And mired in her lazy days
She secretly desires no use.

... Strangely she attempts to change me
Like a mother goose
I look at her strangely
She tells me, Don't look at me
Like I'm crazy
What's the use

She knows that she's not crazy
Absolutely sure

She welcomes every baby like
she sees it crawling through the door

Over the counter, each encounter
Makes her envy babies more.

"I don't have to do anything" but be lazy

she says

Life is but a chore.

ii.

She knows she isn't crazy
She's taken all the steps
Making it seem perfectly
content to all the outside world

She's God's little girl
In a godless universe
Riding a tilt-a-whirl that has been

has been.

Perfectly rehearsed.

She knows she isn't crazy
And frankly she's insulted
She never even bothered

to thank me

Leaving me unconsulted.

I know I'm not crazy

But what can I do?

If I am sane, it must be plain
That she is quite sane,
too.

Dmitry.