Harold…Never Harry


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Harold used to give me…used light bulbs

swaddled with a fistful of Fig Newtons.

He was not half bad

He was not half good

Brutal were his words of love.

His not so slight of hand…caustic like cord wood.

A place for everything and everything in it’s place.

Harold gave me a broken brass lamp.

And, a mask to keep germs closer to our face.

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