Striving toward a Ph.D in your anatomy is enough to keep me sane
until the seventh of March when you finally touch down
we shall dine finely filling our bellies with egg-whites and home-fries
in the corner of the local, grimy diner
you know the one you hate so much
yet we always find ourselves there sharing a toast over burnt coffee
spiked with my native Auld Stag
courtesy of the flask buried in the privacy of my bag.
buzzin' 