A Homemade Hades for the Holidays

You shave the strays
pluck a few grays from your beard
repeating her name
into the medicine cabinet mirror
in case you forget it
in your cups over dinner.
Someday only one phrase
will ever leave your lips.
Until then it's "Cheers"
and "Sure, we'll hear the specials."

There's no miracle on Main Street.
It's like a Buick:
It holds up in court.
Please don't wish for luck;
only a graceful death.

Christ is born every Damned day
in the form of a stubborn writer.

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