She assumes that I'm dying to see her soon.
Just cue in that attention, Won't you?
We're fools in this maze without a clue
As to who in the blaze bids us adieu.
Forgive us for forsaking that silver spoon,
Or ignoring how your every whim it woos.
It must have been the grimmest news
To know there are limits to whom you do.
Enough of that, though—enough of rue.
Pat my head as if our friendship were true.
Edwin Cordero's Other Poems
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