She was from New Belgium


She was from New Belgium
I lived in Paris
she always sent me beer
I sent her cheap jewelry
made in Japan.
At night I wrote
poetry by candlelight
she spent her time
learning Spanish & French
so she could better understand
my rhymes.
She was a door of opportunity
I was rusty hinges
that somehow she knew
no amount of  W-D 40
would change me from squeaking
with words of rhyme
she read while in her garden
Sometimes while I’m running
from me
I picture her on a postcard
saying greetings from
the brewer
who should be in Tennessee.

4 Comments on “She was from New Belgium

burn baby burn

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