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Goodbye Fats
How many times that year
cheek pressed to spotty cheek
I found my thrill
floating in a haze of Brylcreem
and Old Spice
on Blueberry Hill
the bony body of the latest flame
his ribcage pulsating
against my own
my barely-there breasts
The moon stood still
Precious 45s, their covers plastered
with his face, his cheeks so shiny
on Blueberry Hill
that love seemed almost possible
like his love for New Orleans
The wind in the willow played
love's sweet melody
a love so strong he wouldn't
leave while Katrina snapped and snarled
Though we're apart
Reducing the world to wet and rubble
and mud and grief and death
Like Richard and Jay
and Bob and David
you were my thrill
on Blueberry Hill
RIP 24 October 2017
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