Old “Poems”: –30–

She has struggled to be here, and
here (hear) she will command
attention and mine as well. She
be turning, but I think this copy
will see in blue-penciled glory
smile wryly at the imperfected
irony to
close the story thusly:
and turn her attention to the next,
without regrets, or few.

(If you’re not familiar with the term -30- see this.) Back in 1998, I knew a woman who had just found a job as a fledgling reporter at a backwater newspaper. A few months later, her (dreaded) 30th birthday rolled over. This was my birthday card to her. (It is supposed to be newspaper column width, justified (flush left & right), but I haven’t figured out how to do that here.)

(Old “Poems”: I’ve been writing these little ditties, verses, near-poems since high school. Many are pedestrian; others are real stinkers. Some I still love. I worry that they’ll expire with the inevitable demise of my hard drive, so I decided I’ll put them out here, in the harsh, blistering, stinging, way-too-public cloud to live forever, for good or shame. (To write and self-publish is to court shame. Oh, the hubris!))


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