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an ode to the alcoholics

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blue bushels of bow-tied increments wreathed in,
worn park benches entwined with,
the shriek of dissatisfied children.
a curve of a back, or the untied laces of a shoe.
sirens buzz in the endless boxes of happened-upon
memories so swollen with conscience.
butts trapped in twelve o’clock blues,
brazen women with dampened
Delilah’s
Delilah’s
Delilah’s.

old men reminisce in worn checkered caps,
“should have done more, then, then I would’ve been better.”
Glances at strewn children’s items
one
dirtied rubber duck
one
chipped purple cup
one
handle-less bucket
one
motor car handle
with one
pink demoralized shoe -
these
plastic memories of adolescent once haves.

when He questioned about his failures
I replied, “seven cats, seven lives.”
the peculiar inhabitants wreath illumination into wilted buds





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