The “Magic Johnson,” or triple-double,
invented by my officemate Mark Fox,
is the monster-edged edge of the map.
Crabs with wings, aneurysms, strokes.

But for the last phase of a deliverable!
Blood-brothers branded in our black ulcers,
we will ship this bitch. Then, we’ll quit.
Insolent and lazy, like beaten soldiers,

for months and months… who here hasn’t used
his butt as a bed, his right hand as a pillow?
A slow learner, I was thirty and some change
before I ordered my first single espresso.

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