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Showing posts from April, 2025

Dregs (a poem)

Originally written on 03/31/14. The dregs at the bottom of  My well-used wine glass. The remnants of a society At war with maturity. Middle-aged men who are Oblivious to social norms. Miller Lite receptacles Littering our streets. Radios blaring mind-numbing, Top-40, bass-driven nonsense. The horror of reaching the bottom Of my glass of Moscato.