Poems and Poetry

Memoriam Poems | By Wanda Morrow Clevenger

we’re getting closer,
not that 50 is automatic
lights out anymore,
if bum ticker and cancer
and asteroids
don’t rain
—still, 50 giant steps spent—
and the memoriam poems are
increasing of late

the retired man is still working
his butt off and
I’m clinging to his 55th
to score some NSAIDs

the blue above still hung high
and firm, in the interim
we have of late become one
of the week-enders at the
corner howl;
wine is good for blood, bone,

wine is poetry in a bottle—
I read that somewhere

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