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Recent Entries Friends Archive Profile Tags Exploring the evolving relationship between technology and nervous systems
 
 
 
 
 
 
The prompt was,

"Write a poem that contains the phrase 'George, he's gone now."

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George, he's gone now.
I never heard the door slam
and there wasn't a note on the counter
the way there usually is when he's
at the store, or running errands.

To be honest, It's probably
my fault.
Harsh words were exchanged last night.
But they seemed to be borne on the
zeitgeist.
I thought that's the way most parents
were talking to their children.

He's probably at the bar.
Or maybe he's with That Girl.
The one with the Nose Ring.
Possibly both. Who knows anymore?

All I know is, his ass needs to get
a job
and soon.
Even with the foreclosure freeze,
I'm not sure we'll be able to
keep making payments after
90 days.

Not when your unemployment
is about to expire
and my Rheumatoid is considered
A Prior Condition.

Christalmighty George
he's Your Son;
why don't You say
something
for once?
 
 
 
 
 
 
(Deleted comment)
Psst:

I haven't forgotten. There is a guitar here for you. We are experiencing some technical difficulties here at home. Please stand by.