Sweet Mustard

 

Years ago we’d pick up

A case of beer,

Some buns and wieners

And sit under the moon

In northern Manitoba

Drinking warm beer,

Eating cold dogs,

Discussing the inequities

Of the world,

Sometimes Hawkins would

Bring sweet mustard.

Today I’ve long lost

Track of Hawkins,

I’m not into beer

And mystery meat,

Sometimes buy sweet

Mustard for nostalgic reasons,

Still sit under the moon where

The inequities of the world

Loom larger now

Than they did back then.

 

Stephen Nesbitt ©

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