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“The Dogs Come In”

It’s wet outside, muddy. The dogs
are out beyond my eyes, I cannot
see them costing me minutes of my life,
for when they come in I’ll be
there with a towel, ages and ages hence—
well at least when they come in.

I had English teachers say, “Don’t
ever with a preposition sentence
end.” I heard them say, and I was
out in the mud beyond their eyes,
drinking alcohol underage.

What we put up with is what we
put up with, but Churchill himself
did not a false sentence abide, for
him “ending a sentence thus is something
up with I shall not put.”

And the dogs come in, and I, I turn
out to be quite a loser. Muddy,
bruised, beaten and battered by
poor decisions after poor decisions.

Sometimes the cute goes away,
sometimes it stays, but we all must
change to suit the ages if we care
to live to “hence” past today

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