Happy New Year

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Happy New Year

A new year to end the last
Maybe God will let me on
Something that he just Has’t
To let me know what I am not.

Like having to lose a friend and
Having to learn tile
Then throwing out my son
And losing my mind for a while

Almost lost my house
Doing flooring
And homework and rehearse.
No money, Life is going in reverse

In college, should be commendable.
No money, my kids are working
More, I am expendable
However, Everyone is lurking

My mother’s hero was Lucy,
As is mine, Funny how things work
It is really screwy
I am really going bi-zerk

Fran came really close
The slapstick she had
I am an authentic Swede
Was Married to a Cuban Lad

Funny how things work,
History repeats itself
It has been done already
I can imagine myself?

Like my mother would imitate
I know she did
I could see it in her mannerisms
It just couldn’t be hid

Happy New Year to You
I am having one too
I am lit up right here
Watching Lucy of old, not new.

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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