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December 31, 2019
he stifles one of many a yawn
until the fog of fatigue is gone.
Then, as if to pass the time,
he plays a riff on one last rhyme.
It was December 11th and all through the so-called house dust bunnies were rolling, but no frigginí mouse. AND it was long past time to move the fridge out of its cramped corner and extract all the crap that had fallen behind it.
This had long been
one of Mrs. Tís major pet peeves,
so Davey, you see, had to roll up his sleeves.
[Sorry; the next verse is in January.]