- A Postscript Poem -

I go downstairs, and ask

              Sandy what she is

doing. It is Saturday morning, and she

   “I’m doing my receipts,” so I

say,  “Well,  while you were doing your

   receipts, I was upstairs, and I

            was writing the greatest poem I

                              have ever written in my

life,”  and then she says, “Oh, can you wait a

     minute, and by the way, please

                      hand me

the White-Out.”


All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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