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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Emotional · #2221046
Rediscovered some of my old stuff, needs refinement or trashing

Broad in the beam.
Round face, puffy cheeks.
Kid on the corner mouthing names.
None of the men on the street
Turn and take a look.
Her dress pulls too tightly
Round her midriff.
She gets in the cab,
Alone, unappreciated,
She's a lady
In the biggest way.


I can still smell him.
It's been two years.
But I can still smell him
Every now and then.
He never wore cologne,
Never smelled like soap.
But he was very clean,
Extremely clean.
His odor was unique.
I had to give it up when
He gave me up.
I still smell him.
I didn't love him,
But his smell was comfortable.

If I Had My Druthers. . .

John Denver sings "Druthers".
The room is a little chilly.
The rose in the vase is dying.
The cat's curled up in the bean bag.
Dirty tea cups fill the sink,
A stack of manuscripts sit on the floor,
Library books cover the sofa.
I sit tapping my foot,
Typing to the music.
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