Commence the countdown
to slappy hour.
Give it six or seven weeks,
and whatever promise it held
will be jettisoned
across the lapping waters
to another disconsolate coast.
Is this the most agonizing dialogue
or what?
The acrid smell of each word,
how they feel in the mouth.
I hear they’re cooking up
a new debacle down south.
Whatever keeps the populace fed.

-r. miller

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