He lifts his cocktail
to his lips
with both hands
like an old vagabond
sipping free Catholic soup
knows to roll his eyes
when I try to get away
with verbal murder
and when he's gone
I find my toilet seat up
like clockwork
since we've seen all sides
yet still we strive
to keep alive
like flies stuck in a shithouse
not so much complaining.
All the worst heroes die
due to voids
dealt in cards.
The worthiest
suck down shards
of cork in wine
without so much
as an eyebrow.
I'm lucky to have
such a place to hang my hats.
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