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Ode to Elvis

As Paul held me near,
a tree limb poked me in the back.
Jesus, 
I'd be impaled by a pagan symbol 
on December Twenty-first.
I wondered 
if I looked as uncomfortable 
as I felt.
My skirt was riding up my legs,
stockings were bunched at my knees;
my blouse was wrinkled
and the limb from the artificial tree
could puncture a lung.
I glanced at our reflection in the window. 
Two middle-aged frumps, 
clinging to each other.
And as the tree lights flickered,
I knew this would be 
another blue,
blue, Christmas
for me..

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