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Posted by on Dec 3, 2008 in Poetry | 1 comment

For Tim Congdon and Zach

bad times

an email

from a dying friend

sydney bechet

‘summertime’

and a fried transaxle

two thousand bucks

but it beats the 10%

the doctor gives to Tim

not just the toilet paper poet

no but the man who sold

pine trees, dogs and kept

a herd of horses in the catskills

who once tried to sell me a crystal

that would clean my wash

without detergent

and gave me a beefalo roast

from a beast he had raised

and zac his son

bad times for everyone

1 Comment

  1. Tim. Takes what he can and gives what he can. In the end it’s a wash. One hand washes the other and both hands wash the face

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