ORIGINAL POETRY


      Perdu Bijou et Moi  in the rough           A. J. Heskett 


Sometimes you know, no conquering army
is more cruel than the lover lost. There is
memory of easy laughter, bad jokes, morning
breath and sweet kisses coffee flavored,
bills not paid, the dented fender, the big fight,
quiet and noisy days the life of life.

The sense of loss is as real as the third final
notice of payment due, or even like watching
an old black and white movie with corny
dialogue and recognizing that's right -
The way I felt way back then and secretly
thinking "no that's all wrong" the director would
say I want a happy ending! give me a rewrite!


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