Keep It Under Your Hat

The friends of youth can’t be replaced.
They knew you long before your face
Was creased and cracked and wracked by care.
(They also think you still have hair!)

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Writer’s Block

I’m thankful for the opportunity
Bestowed upon me each Thanksgiving Day
To quote myself before my family
And friends. But I still don’t know what to say.
I love that we don’t argue, scream, or fight;
That politics and sports don’t spoil the meal;
That most of us would choose a quiet night
To one in which we slur the words we feel.
I’m thankful that I’m looking forward to
Our late-November gathering of clans,
And that the trope of kin-without-a-clue
Has never reared its head: We’re family fans.
The difficulty is, it’s always thus.
Are there new ways to say I’m glad we’re us?

Dear Satan

B. Bubs, we who know you well,
Your friends and neighbors here in Hades,
Stockholm-Syndromed lads and ladies
Nose-blind to that sulfur smell,
Are worried: Donald Trump is late! He’s
Dearly missed down here in Hell.