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poetry and prose by stephen chute
Monday, February 24, 2025
the annual fall off her horse
i haven't heard
from her
since she fell off her horse
and hit
her head
on a jumping
post.
but since
the election we weren't
talking
that much
anyway.
i think we're toast.
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the empathetic mugger
her Spanish leather
the dimming of light
pennies saved
the lollygagging is over, i guess
let's go find your mum
ten hours earlier
mildly insane
i saw Our Town in this suit
dangling her carrots
what did them in?
you're always late for me
betty de milo
get away from these people, and be well
diminishing vices
i only grazed him
winning the Maine state high school girls champion...
black market eggs
breathing is important
the data republican
madly chopping carrots
lifetime achievement awards
her private conversations
93 types of mosquitoes
where does it all go?
picking up Rhonda at 7
ice on the fat lip
everyone was skinny back then
he's not as funny as he used to be
remove the hunger and bite
the yellow kite
on red wings
pants in the mail
working at home, sort of
the prettiest girl in the room
it's why i walk away
i don't really know you
the 876 area code call
community pick up
the annual fall off her horse
night fever
please, don't come in
more than two cats
tossing food out a window
not in Julia Child's book of recipes
i should worry more
the late night opera
the stripes on the road
any active addictions
when heading to Lincoln Center for a show
rejecting Walt
there's a policeman at my door
observing his life's work
a bird limping across the sky
what's wrong now?
finding common interests
the mid-day matinee
when the gravy train ends
thinning the herd
in a stiff wind
the smallest of prayers
that he was someone
i prefer not to zoom
taking the crosstown bus
where do you keep all those shoes?
quickly turning pages
come up to the house
drawing a blank
the lovers across the way
Central Park
they haven't forgotten me
have the geese returned?
the world's best cheesecake
wants that pretend
the boy scout blues
a bag of cookies on the porch
puddle or ice
will you do the same for me?
a typical day on the way to the market
pigeons in the cupboard
my father's final girlfriend
my favorite new word
nothing to shout about
reboot the day
i get it now
flattery will get you nowhere
clean out of saves
i carried her up the stairs
no need to bleed with you around
Farrah taped to the bedroom door
her birthday cards
too old to snatch purses anymore
we're very nosy people
still not funny (SNL)
the joy of the orange chair
preserved in amber
the party is long over
still keeping time
oh well, it's New York
the long short drop off a cliff
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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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