Black Attack

Your hues of well, black,
I’ll miss it always,
I call it the black attack,
that whizzes by our pathways.

I hear you’re gonna see about an island,
probably gonna see about a diamond.

Maybe your wrist heals,
and you miss our meals,
then come back,
in black.

You will miss us crazies,
and the lazies,
and don’t forget Paula,
That elusive Starbucks banana.

I hope you find your extraordinary,
and decide to come back in February.

MM OCT2015



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