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Since the “MC” in my current “WIP” came of age in the “say goodbye” Nineties, I’m about to consume a mess of pre-millennial madness and cultural tidbits and touchstones.

I could proffer the exercise may help keep one young, but why the need to act other than ones’ age? Besides the BS is already a plenty given the waking dream/scheme of conjuring seventy or so thousands of words.

And now another ongoing bad poem.

“Nine Summers In, Some Sixty Years Ago.”

On the porch
Or maybe a veranda
A passing young woman
Prompted a remark by my younger brother
She’s too fat, he fretted
She’s pregnant, I corrected
As my grandmother swung and connected
“With Child,” she reprimanded.
But I did not turn the other cheek
Within a week, I ran away and have stayed
that way.. forever

So what and Shucks..here’s a moody moment muddled by bitrate and software limitations of streaming media a decade or so ago.

  1. Well, it seems I’ve missed several of your posts. I thought I was subscribed or following or something, but apparently not. Sorry ’bout that.

    1. No need for sorry, Susan…I’ve been posting less and less. In fact time on-line for social media type things has become harder to come by, as warmer weather has kicked in. But always good to hear from you. Thanks.

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