in Poetry

inches in, the incongruity of last having done so
some thirty years ago, right before your no show at
divorce court… sparks me!

you let it all lay about for years,
in fear of another adieu I do, I guess

Best left to the brittle bastard
and that be me,
to stroke the signature
to efface
the indelible
and that be us…

that you Dear,
fondled away


I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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