Huddled right on up like the ‘powers-that-be’ they could only ever really dream of being – loosely clipped betting-slips flailing all about the place inside of tempestuously eager hands
Utterly downtrodden and blasphemous thoughts pandering about this peculiarly smoke-choked sky
Half-heartedly wondering about this and that
Disastrous lapses in concentration letting the wrong people in
Forgotten mistresses sitting three rows over with peacock hats on, foolishly opting upon entirely adoring these particular mens’ God forsaken everything – so ridiculously far from sober, these half-laced cocktail glasses doing their damnedest to explain a thing or ten
When, oh when did you all get to fall so very alarmingly far on out of our cherished lives?
Your wives may well get to be at home but, so you know, your ‘beloved’ children are sitting right here

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