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After the Red Sox
blew their season
by losing three straight
in the playoffs
to Chicago,
it rained
in our part of Maine
for days.
“Coincidence,” I said
over coffee down at
Archibald’s One-Stop.
“Think what you like,”
Homer Jones replied,
buttoning up
his slicker.
Then he walked out
and never spoke
to me again.
Gerald George lives in East Machias. He has been a writer, editor and administrator in Washington, D.C., and is a citizen of the Red Sox Nation. His poems have appeared in Aroostook Review, H.O.M.E. Words, Narramissic Notebook, and Wolf Moon Press Journal.
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