He toyed with his banjo
Twanging the wire on it
I mean the string with his tine
Poison on his tux
Hives crawling
his gloveless hand
glass half full toxic drink
sitting in the bonafide foyer
the callused thumb
The venom we all avoid
yet know pours like tapwater
fits like clothes
and gets lost in people's pantries
we see tireless clanging peasants
crying for tradition and times of yore
failing in their attempt to raze their trendy ways
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