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That Guy, You Know
It is an odd thing
The passing of an acquaintance
Someone about whom
You know intimate details of the everyday
Maybe what colour ink they always used
On postcards
During holiday times
But they left you with no knowledge
Of them that passed superficial
Their now vanished hopes and dreams
For certain, you will see
What colour they wear in the casket.
Perhaps the best way to love thy neighbour
Is not to know them that well.
