Wet Steps
I looked at my lips this evening
to ask if there was some mistake.
You kissed me off
in the current that made struggle.
I did the dogpaddle
and called for survival.
My wife so religious
called for a revival.
Well I drank my last Bud
and waded in a puddle.
My life is a picture so clear
yet so subtle.
poem by John Shea
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