Same Shit, Different Decade

I’ve heard this somewhere before.
So old hat. Spats with loneliness,
spats with frustration. Even spats
with a nation of finicky imps.

Now, my enthusiasm limps along
on a pair of chopsticks that it once called legs.
My glass is filled with dregs instead of drink,
and my crotch stinks like a ginkgo tree.

-r. miller

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