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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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