Saturday, March 09, 2024

Poem, Mead, Alcohol, Patience


Probably An Invitation
March 9, 2024

on the dresser is the single largest sign
it’s probably about time to take up drinking
sixty-four quarts of mead, one complainer
finally tracked down after three years
pinging barometric, temperature-centric
incorrectly sealed, sixty-three remaining
that long-set betterment of aging in

probably an invitation

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