A librarian from Baltimore sent
me news about John the Plumber or
was it Jack, seems he’s not
really a plumber, did you see how
McCain’s right cheek juts
out like a wrecked ship or
like a pirate har har
did I tell you that even the stars
are sleeping and yet I tap,
a woman dressed in a black
wool turtleneck and unbuckled
jeans worrying about outcomes while
Joe and the librarian sleep.
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Writers lead such solitary lives. Please feel free to drop me a line or two.