Low Manse

On the totem pole of usual polarities, 

hope has its detritus surgically removed. 

Hope window shops various brands of hops,

the takeaways portable as dross, and remain 

a shallow facsimile of real hope calling to mind 

the show To Tell the Truth in which the audience

awaits with bated breath the final standup 

of the real thing thereby removing the twin fakes. 

Hope singes faux versions of itself. Hope needs

to be incessantly reasoned and with tooth.