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Ruzvidzo Mupfudza A Binge at the Crossroads We sit, perched on our barstools Like mushroom-satellite dishes On Hararean roof tops We desperately try to cling to our youth But age has the final say Our minds are not as sharp as they used to be To be sure, through the haze of cigarette smoke And the fumes of booze we glimpse ghosts Of our younger selves but we turn away our beer-soaked faces We drench the walls of urinals with our creativity Sadly, fleeing the shame, we signal the waitress for the next round Resigned, for it’s obvious we’re going to be on the stools till Dawn breaks

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Profile for Conversation Poetry

CPQ Summer 2012  

CPQ Summer 2012

CPQ Summer 2012  

CPQ Summer 2012

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