not much depended
upon


the red wheel
barrow


Portland's rain was
more


puddle than glaze
and


the chickens weren't
white.




But the scene recalled
When I first realized
You were right
And my subsequent embarrassment
Thinking on a younger me
Who fancied himself
A poet
For fermenting sour grapes
Into bitter w(h)ine
Yet mistook for idiocy
Your potent distillation
Even as a decade later
I was drunk.

02/07/2015

Posted on 02/07/2015
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