slim little thunderstorm
sweeps through
instead of going out
I sit in my living room
with the fan blowing
with the radio show
with Kalika’s demanding chirps
with a nerve of quiet
anger for things past
with pasta settling
with the new screen door in place
with a fresh Friday night
to bike out into
with Arkham Asylum at the ready
with memories shooting
from the chair
with my shoes off and sitting
soft and rallying around no beer
and importing in odds and evens
dos and donts
dollar signs and ampersands

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