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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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