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poetry and prose by stephen chute
Saturday, February 10, 2024
what could go wrong?
the plumber is
coming,
the tile man, the dry wall
fellow,
the electrician
and
the painter.
i've put out notes and
envelopes
of cash for each of them.
the key is under
the mat.
i'll be at church, praying.
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where are you people from?
can you help me find that man?
this money will last you the rest of your life
will there be a waterfront view in heaven?
the neighborhood concerns
no, the tiger will eat you
as Rome burns once more
changes in latitude
my connection in Delhi, Joe
leave the dead alone
despite all the cutting
dance fever
itching to protest something
the job finds you
upgrade now available, on us
my therapy horse
i know where you live
the downward spiral
three percent Chinese?
closing shop
put on your big boy pants
not literally
the new no
thank you cat
picking your battles
and yes, it's strange
it's all i really care about
the great northwest
praying for fried chicken
forgive me father
my metal cloud
the last ball shot
delusions and illusions
send me some dough
it's personal and business
when spring comes
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cold front moving in
one chip left in the bag
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the spaces between
not broken enough for her
poke me anywhere
lollygagging along
trickery and tom foolery
falling onto 5th avenue
for the best online therapy, click here
they don't seem that worried
the crime wave
thank you for asking
finding a win
becoming a nude male model
perfecting my craft
sans pickle
the three day stone age
an ordinary day
her night visit
he suddenly woke up
happiness is a milkshake
congress is in session, so what
before all of this
let's go sailing
you can see it in their eyes
the gypsy souls
suddenly they're thirty-five
a never ending why
without her glasses
homemade bread
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i beg to differ
growing old
fame but no fortune
the halo tilts
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it's all about the queen bee
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you look like your father
not a penny more
the baby tiger
nothing has changed
please, steal this car
mother's little helpers
the birthday wish
don't wake me up for that
guess where i am?
court jester
easy as one two three
a grain of salt
till death do us part
you've changed, she says
8 hours
have we left anything behind?
give me what you got
making sourdough bread
moving forward in time
who sees this in us?
despite all of that
presidents day
i'll never eat again after that meal
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About Me
Stephen Chute
west springfield, virginia, United States
these are all FICTIONAL stories and characters and are in no way representative of any real experiences in my or anyone else's life. any similarities are purely coincidental, except for the dog poems.
View my complete profile
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