A Poem (The Wing Dome)
The last time I was thereI left my guts in Ravenna Park;
On a jog to work
The following day;
And bore an unrelenting sting
On my cinnamon ring;
Why did I eat that seven-alarm wing?
Labels: buffalo wings, guys night, seattle, wing dome, wingdome
posted by David Martin at
18:28
1 Comments:
Wodnerful lyricism. Glad to see the Muse has been striking so frequently even if her strikes do seem to be originating below the belt.
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