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Pass-a-Grille
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Humor Sitting at a little tiki bar,
I listened but didn't say a word,
waiting for a consensual opportunity,
on an extraordinarily hot night.
That old, mustached poor quality
replica of Clark Gable,
the long-jawed bastard,
fell back into my life.
I remembered him
from another steaming night;
I turned rawbone cold before
it ended.
The drinks were good, but
I needed more to sweeten
the sandwich.
Later that night I ordered a
hot cuban.
