[lit-ideas] SUNDAY POEM

BELIEVING IS SEEING

Like a London sleuth
we sight unseen glean the truth:
this world is curled in whorls of ruth,
forsooth, forsooth, forsooth.

I once loved a girl from Duluth 
she made a great show of being uncouth,
but all the while she was stealing my youth,
pouring it into her gin like vermouth.
Now I sit in this wretched booth
tonguing my very last wisdom tooth.
Christ, it hurts.


Mike Geary
Memphis

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