Saturday, 8 April 2017

8/30: Dinner at Aaron's

Sweet with the veggie sausage, stirred, fried, boiled to the right
Crisp, a pasta eaten past fullness. Little Norah already shows
A grasp of politics, though she admits she’s not quite sure so
She’ll listen to Mom and Dad, for now. Oz is every dog who
Drives their owner crazy while stealing your heart.

New Adventures in Hi Fi. Old adventures in combat music
Journalism. The netflix cue is abandoned for the evening,
The beer all made at home. We are both after all these years,
And before the next all those years. There’s a planet spinning
To burn beneath us, and daily calls to arms, and a wave
Of prospective parents giving up on their bands and publishing

Houses for livable rent in Burien. The effects of which remain
To be seen. Doubtless someone three months in is already penning
Semi-epic poetry about the “Ghettoes of Ambaum” after three drives
Through. That isn’t me. I came for the company, stayed for the girl scout cookies.

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