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Smiling
Proof
To an artist,
A writer, a sculptor,
To the poet alive
In most of us,
A young man
Standing in line,
His palm firmly planted
On the right cheek
Of his lover’s bum,
Her left breast
Pressing against his chest,
The cooing, his lips
On her hair,
Her left hand
Wandering,
Is an inspiration,
Smiling proof that life
In its beauty
Thrives in spite
Of the crap
Going on in the world,
Then some old fart
Some young crank
Try to fuck up
The whole day
Going on and on
Why that’s what’s wrong
With the world,
Why they should be
In church, in the army
Learning respect and discipline
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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