The Graduation Party

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There are graduation parties around
town tonight
I won’t be there
under the Spring bloomed oak trees
souring scents of keg beer
and hanging bulbs of pink lights

Those days are fifteen years beyond
me now
My head is but a hazy haze each
new morning
Not filled with subjects of moons
and phases or the kissing lips of
fresh skin by the windblown lake

What would I do at a graduation party
anyway
besides toss cupcakes upon the
hoods of classic cars
then come round with a mower
the next day
to cut a damp and fertile lawn
to start the crusty ruse of economics
that the empty call adulthood

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