“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!” -Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 2.

Hipsters can gossip without end, perhaps

‘bout old Absurdist neck tattoos,

Or Omar Bradley prone, unmoving, still,

With canc’rous tumors gaining ground.

This war is one he cannot win, and in

The closing dark, he sees some dirt upon

His mother’s cushion, what and where it’s from

Unknown, just speculation given now,

Under a coffeehouse umbrella, with

Half-empty wine carafes and bites of pastry.

****** Next challenge ******
Give me a person, place, thing, and a goal. I’ll make a cool poem out of it all!


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