Forced entrenchment

Trench-coat
broad, absent-minded
trembling tenor,
an aftertaste of swiss on rye.
Cut across the back
stippled in shade
– shhh, it’ll fade,
atop a green hill
in ever-present sun.
Hidden in
forced nostalgia
with a side of
saddle shoes and fries.
Wailing window
speeding to the tune
of good ol’ daddios
replete with backup dancers
and a cigarette left to burn.
Trouble
in the form of
thrown slippers knocking breath
against teeth, a reckoning.

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