Writing to you from the riverside city of New Orleans. Carnival season has begun and folks are coming out of the wood work.
A poem comes to me:
drunk dad in the arm chair
reaches for his son's
hand
football and babes
it rains.
All is forgotten
sweet liquor
l i n g e r s
dad can I have
five bucks for
the mall ?
Trish and I
want
to get our belly buttons PiERCED
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