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Graveside – C. Blome William

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Don’t grab at me, o sexy dum-dum,

you leave that to the untrimmed nettles

or the hybrid tea roses wife number one

was so ready to live and die for,

and if you love me as much as you say,

then strangle to death my midget enemies

as they ignore the treaties of marriage

it took forever for her and me

to think up, draw up, and promulgate.

I’m seeing now we did all that

during roughly the same noisy moments

you and your big friends used her bra

to cup the seed they sowed like thread

into the stormy atmosphere,

and they goose-step yet on turned-up dirt.

William C. Blome writes poetry and short fiction. He lives in the ‘States, wedged between Baltimore and Washington, DC, and he is a master’s degree graduate of the Johns Hopkins University Writing seminars. His work has previously seen the light of day in such fine little mags as Poetry London, PRISM International, Fiction Southeast, Roanake Review, Salted Feathers and The California Quarterly.


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