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Month: November 2016

The Miss

The Catholic priests held
a special conference on sex
or Sexuality in our Times
aimed at college kids.

So the five priests who led it
waited but nobody showed.
One priest began to laugh
and soon they all joined him.

They spoke earnestly that
next time they should really
try to do things differently
except for a singular priest.

He arrived alone late to
heat up leftovers and turn on
the TV to some vulgar show
then lie in bed to cry to sleep.

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The Back Office of the Big Bank

There are no more paper cups
or plates or creamer to be found
in the pantry that is no longer
a pantry but a coffee nook.

Half of the desks are empty.
The windows remain unwashed.
The palm in the corner withers
as no service waters it now.

The walls feature posters
from conventions
held years in the past when
they boasted of a boom.

Even the chairman took
one less week on Martinique
in a cabana off the beach.
He shared photos of the sea.

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Poet’s Notes:
An image of the original draft is below.
If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment (further) below.

new-doc-155_1

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Donald Mugabe

He big man. He fly like
big bird in air and swoop
down on so many enemies.
Golden hair flying.

He so rich. He give money
to poor just like Jesus.
They begging at him and
he always gives, always.

He so smart he know
more than whole school
know more than professors
and all the students.

He know more than army.
All these generals, no.
They not have his army
knowledge in one his finger.

He all the women. They chase
him now. Earlier he grab
now they running to him.
It’s crazy you know.

And he no need little help
from pill. No he so strong
even old man, he strong.
The women no complaining.

I tell his stories, all.
Earlier he have time,
now no time. Now he forever.
He like a God to us, yes.

 

https://www.zimeye.net/mugabe-pleads-friends-with-trump/

 

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Poet’s Notes:
An image of the original draft is below.
If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment (further) below.

new-doc-147_1

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The Imperfections

Some day you will leave me
for my imperfections
numerous and countable.

You will tire of saying
yes but and adding the
usual counterweights.

You will find yourself
weighing all of it and
shaking your head.

It just doesn’t add up
even though it remains
simple to enumerate.

 

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Poet’s Notes:
If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment (further) below.

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