Strep Throat – Jefferson Carter

I sleep in my son’s bed,his comforter billowingover me like meringue,the poems of Che Guevaraunder my pillow.When my wife comes home,she lets the dog in,the dog who loves meunconditionally. What didChe call his apolitical friends?Drunks, singing, their throatsabout to be cut. The dogloves me for […]

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