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Poetry

Knowing Me, Knowing You

Odysseus tied to the mast at karaoke.
Odysseus! Will no one give him the mic? Agony!
Yes, you are a terrible singer, but we love how you sell it anyway.
It’s opening day for pigs on Circe’s Isle, a group-sing debacle
of Shimmy Shimmy Ya,
a coconut-to-the-head special.
His excuse? I never thought I was going home. A shell
to the ear tells me you ate the last fry
and the part of the map that marked
your indiscretions. Charybdis! Scylla!
Haven’t seen you jokers in years!
Haven’t changed a bit, just a little around the belly,
and the eyes, and your cavernous soul.

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