ALL RESPONSES |
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| You look very happy! Congratulations on a decade |
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She notices a lone apple
in the crisper drawer,
dented like a car door
He notices the old husband
down the street has stopped
mowing his grass
She thinks it would be easy
for the front tire of the Dodge
to drift from the highway,
to perhaps later forget
how to walk or her own name
He thinks she should not think
about things like that; instead
she should put on something loose
and sit –thisclose-- to you
on the couch tonight
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Ten years after our marriage, we sit in a studio apartment in St. Paul, reflecting more on our surroundings than on the past. It's a very beautiful fall day, in a state where
people gauge beauty by the dew point and a thermometer reading. The law college across the street has an attractive tile roof, red, black and tan against what could be a
Mediterranean sky. There are still green and yellow leaves shaking in the breeze. The mood of the people in the shops on Grand is exuberant, positive and almost playful. Today,
this is our world. Much of it has been centered on food. Corned beef hash, pizza, tacos, fresh bread, cake, salad and martinis have appeared on our table, with no need to cook
or wash dishes. Henry, my brother-in-law, flew up from Georgia last night and took us to breakfast this morning. Tonight, he'll dine with Walter Mondale; we'll take in walleye
at the tavern down the street. Peg and I don't speak of religion, court, debt, windows, pets or children, although we would like to buy a new rug for the entrance to our house.
Maybe we'll go for a walk. It's a carefree, casual day. Let's just go with it. |
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Cash borrowed Boogie’s red pick-up and he and Molly drove to the bluffs, an obvious choice perhaps, but the sunset views of downtown Baltimore as well as a distant DC were spectacular. Molly was his best friend and constant companion. As they drove, she snuggled herself under his arm. When they reached the Bluffs, Cash cut the engine and waited; savoring her smell. He pulled an old photo from his jacket pocket. Molly noted Boogie’s face, the way his eyes were locked in love on an unknown bride. She knew Cash’s father to be many noble things, but a doting husband was not one of them. She bridled just a little and then pulled slightly away.
“Where is she now?” Molly asked.
“I’m not sure”
“Your mom right?”
“Yeah”
Molly was afraid, her parents were unhappy. She knew that some marriages should not last, but the love in the photo was real and deep. Boogie’s eyes were full of devotion. She noticed Cash watching her with that same devotion and turned away, looking out at the purple sky and city lights. All of her life’s possibilities rushed at her, took her breath, and then relaxed. She smiled to herself. She turned to Cash who was also looking at the sky line. She snuggled up again. He put his lips and nose to her hair. And they sat for a while.
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britt and peggy
are two
of the warmest
people i’ve
never met
peggy bakes cakes
sews clothing
works
and cooks warm meals
easy laughter
and a huge heart
easy to love
britt you’ve
struck gold
in the wife you chose
happy anniversary
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What kind would you like to be?
Black Russian and American white with ham?
Matching whole wheat with cashews and chicken?
Maybe New York rye instead with
turkey and lettuce, chips and beer?
Sometimes it's like taking a walk
on a bright autumn day
warm on the sunny side
refreshingly cool on the other. |
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this and this together make one
being one from just a little more
than something one like a name
and then there was naming the full
fledged piracy of two from the background
turned into something more |
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Their colony of love
began with eyes flittering dance to the beat of words
light touching lips hands heart
it has survived the simpleness of time turning over
feeding their bodies spirits minds
dullness is not welcome in the Flemming house
tango salsa wings hot oven kind of love fresh from the vine |
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After ten years the most
important question remained:
what happened to that tie? |
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I, poet with an ass-kicking mutant ninja virus,
take you, Kleenex, to be my lawfully bedded husband.
With this Neti-Pot, I thee wed
in sickness, and in... more sickness.
Words drip and ache as much as the rest of me;
what's the point of medicated poem?
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I laid it out like a plan,
cut out the guts and read.
I saw the future in there,
whispered it into a shell. |
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