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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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