Non-Erotic PoetryBreakfast at the Wee Bee DinerGot a couple cords
of empty whiskey bottles
stacked neatly
out behind the shed
monument to forty years
working hard
undresses the waitress
with his eyes
still feeling his oats
She’s too young to see
the maggots crawl
behind those sad sack eyes
but old enough to know
by noon he’ll be
half through the bottle
and the feeling
will have passed
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