To the Morning of September’s Twenty-Eighth Day In the Year of Our Absent Lord Two Thousand and Fourteen

Let’s get one thing clear:
I am not bald.

This once blonde head of hair is plum,
Ripe with hair you, Padre, can only imagine.
Like damn.

But let’s be serious for a change, eh?
Take a task to a point beyond anger,
Perhaps strike a desert bargain.

I’m joking, of course.

I expect nothing of you;
You expect nothing of me.
And so we are both not wrong —
The essential thing.

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~ by Benji on 17 SunAmerica/Los_Angeles2014-09-28T00:09:29-07:00America/Los_Angeles09bAmerica/Los_AngelesSun, 28 Sep 2014 00:09:29 -0700 2017.

One Response to “To the Morning of September’s Twenty-Eighth Day In the Year of Our Absent Lord Two Thousand and Fourteen”

  1. I love plum. And I love the defiant tone of this poem!

    Like

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