The Rip Post                                                                                              


   Work of Art
    Art, you were quite a work
    Where do you hang thirteen years on?
    Tracks of your synapses on paper. . .
    And a laugh or two that still echo
    Or erupt anew, as memory tries to throw off

    time
    You bought me those records
    Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, even Schoenberg
    And now you are a record
    That plays with skips and pops
    on an antique stereo
    Well, what the hell, I'll crank it up
    and Wagner, too
    and raise a toast to your old you.

                                ---Charles Bogle

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