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Oct 2019
I sit in a burgundy leather chair at work
Hoping that I don't get fired.
But I tried downloading an unauthorized program onto my computer
And a pop-up with the word *******
Flashed across the screen when I went to check the baseball scores.

Maybe I will forsake this whole ******* life
And run off into a hermitage
Heaping ashes on myself, prostrated before a cheap wax statue.
But on some level what I'm really doing
Is avoiding responsibility.

I'm dreading the drive home, to be honest
Because I know you will greet me with that fiery anger
That paradoxically gives me an *******
But also breaks my heart.

Maybe I can just walk in the door
***** preemptively sealed in a yellowed Mason jar,
And say,

"Just stay right where you are, Steve."
"We don't want any trouble..."
this is a ****** poem
Written by
Richard Yeans
162
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