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Poetry Magnum Opus

Mean City Moment


Frank E Gibbard
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Frank E Gibbard

My office, it's the crack of noon,

me looking cross a desk of clutter

push desolutely at the mildewed

roll and butter of last night's late

discarded last supper. Oh Christ

was I hungry like a con at a first

cathouse met upon release. This

yellow grease near unleashes the

now swilling last belt of booze that

I swallow before I slump for a few

zees. Jeez right then I could eat a

longhorn's steak with the horns still

attached. Trixie is soon dispatched

for coffee and doughnuts, for this

shamus needs his guts filled hitting

mean streets you can get killed out

there. Didn't even look long at those

young legs and a man could die for

dem pegs. Back she comes cheery

with goodees for your's truly's belly.

"Sweetie," I complain, "you've got

custard damn it and I wanted jelly."

No jury would convict if I even shot

that godamm girl she didn't cut the

mustard so those squishy messes

and stupid can both go right to hell.

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