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We are on the case.

Where has youth gone—

that hormone heartache?

Perhaps it ran away

or was put out of its misery.

We are both happier,

not in our dotage but cozy.

 

Relics and clues linger.

Look at the photographs:

sunshine tank-top,

spilled beer bottle,

paperbacks on every surface.

 

“It is time for tea,” Marple says,

and we chat over steaming cups.

The biscuits are warm

and so are the stories we tell.

Sweet past, we speak of you often.

We wish you well.

 

 

 

Isaiah Vianese‘s poems and book reviews have appeared in AssaracusBlue Collar Review, The Fourth RiverLambda Literary, Moon City Review, nin, and Rattle. He’s also author of the chapbook Stopping on the Old Highway (Recycled Karma Press, 2009) and a book for children. He lives in New York City. For more information, please check out his blog at: ivianesefromyes.blogspot.com.

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