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Dale (Free verse) by INTRANSIT
What times we had ! You taught me darts and the first time I played my dad I beat him. I worry about my dads age sometimes it seems like a joke now. We bowled ! game after game after game then billiards with Dave. I'm sure who we worked for was a contributor. Doing our laundry together, god how we grew when you said "fuck you" I knew what you meant. And we could move cars! The whole Marijuana and Valerie thing was just too funny! Now I'm a newborn pup that just lost its mother. I just want to punch a grandfather clock! Grab its arms, yank its guts out through its face. I could have come to Arkansas and helped you with that thing you had going on, whatever it was. I would have, gladly. But I didn't know you never called me again. What's left but Sade and Courvosier white russians.

Up the ladder: A Rally
Down the ladder: dialect

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Arithmetic Mean: 6.6666665
Weighted score: 5.4482355
Overall Rank: 2939
Posted: September 3, 2005 8:13 AM PDT; Last modified: September 3, 2005 8:13 AM PDT
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Caducus

Comments:
[7] Dovina @ 12.96.171.2 | 3-Sep-05/9:55 AM | Reply
What's left? Black russians, that's what. Far super over White, in every way. I've never taught a man to play darts and then have him beat his father. Maybe you need another lesson.
[n/a] INTRANSIT @ 152.163.100.138 > Dovina | 3-Sep-05/10:01 AM | Reply
I raise my paw and say: BAH!
[9] Bethy @ 24.222.32.194 | 5-Sep-05/5:14 AM | Reply
good memories...we all have them, this is what I write about, fic and non-fic...still there all good feelings...someone always laughs, it either reminds people of themselves or someone...this one reminds me of my buddy Ed...and he was a nutbar... still is...thanks for the belly giggles...lol :) Bethy
[4] Heather Dee @ 63.17.24.26 | 6-Sep-05/2:50 AM | Reply
I'm sorry
[10] Caducus @ 172.201.113.199 | 15-Sep-05/9:00 AM | Reply
its a freakin classic and normally what i liked a couple of years ago isnt the same now (which can be said of some readers to my work). This is still so haunting and ripping out the guts of a grandfather clock shows your emotive qualities spilling over - this poem made me like you as a human and writer.
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