Monday, July 11, 2016


Etiquette of Adversity

Ripped off the balcony by a rogue wave
from Hurricane Jasmine, the plywood
he was nailing following him and smashing
and cutting his entire body.

Deposited in a stripped black oak, naked
and shaking uncontrollably.

All night, his wounds freshened by successive,
drenching gusts.

The morning brought preternatural, misty calm.

So much so that he could hear the dipping oars
of the two guardsmen.

“Excuse me?” began he.

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Would you have any grey poupon?
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