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Written on the occasion of the marriage of friends

I find poems like this disingenuous.
Life has disappointed me
In some tangible and obvious way.
Let me write a poem about it.

I gently plink, plink, plink
a spoon against
this drink

I picture myself
In a year, at the wedding.
Shifty-eyed and restless, desiring
Minimal contact with the other guests,
Friends Iíve known for years,
Very rapidly.
Perhaps to make an ass of myself,
For whatever pleasures that is worth?
Maybe not.
Perhaps itís no longer my style.
No one will remember it anyway.

Plink, and plink, and plink.
Itís over.
It was always over.
It was over when it began.

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