1 Poem by
Kent Kruse
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OUR OWN LITTLE ARMAGEDDON
Frightfully drunk
she speaks of armageddon
with a flirtation in her voice,
wanting me to come visit,
the television news man
rambling over the sirens in the background
(Apparently she had called the day
Manhattan collapsed into flames).
I chug the can listening to the message
wipe the drips from my chin
hang up then pick up the phone
dial the number
and talk to her recorder
with a stupid laughter,
while watching the televison news man
still rambling over the sirens in the backround.
"Yea, I thought it was armageddon too...
that's why I stayed home last night, alone,
jacking off all night... hee hee hee!
Give me a call!"
Seven nights later and she has yet to call,
and though this isn't the end of the world
it certainly appears to be
at least the beginnings
of our own little armageddon.
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