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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 17:45:02 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 145001
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A Diner Full of Colonists
[time] => 2008-09-07 16:49:31
[hometext] => A place where there is no thanks or giving...
[bodytext] => I've sat in this seat at Mackies before they tore it down and removed the awnings; or when they stripped off that pink paint for the newest hue of booger green. "They" are the owners: those greedy men from Spooner who have tastes similar to licking sandpaper or the feel of rough drywall. Their food is just as dry like the last drought that decided to come on by. Imagine some Sooner schooners— unlike those childish scooters— traveling on the dead plains into the distance of a concrete sky, living on paper in a frame, in a portrait of hot America; hung by a nail staked to mucus walls. Those land runners wouldn't suffer from an overcooked burger or scalding coffee or children leaving their snot unattended on the walls. They wouldn’t suffer from the silence of air conditioners, the weight of lipid-dipped fries, and tone deaf parents singing “happy birthday.” But, I do with four others, and we treat our beef patties like they are jerky. We salt them; eat them like we’re starving pilgrims and when the day’s done, we head home in our own version of a Plymouth, with Rock. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 190 [topic] => 43 [informant] => skyhawk432 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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