Another eleventh-hour note from Feast
Three different days, three different treats.
Three different days, three different treats.
Or maybe just fits. Apoplectic fits.
Tapped on the shoulder by the longest day of the year.
Or at the very least, a dramatic slowing.
Do you know a suitable coworker for us?
Or the garden hose, anyway.
No wonder we’re dizzy.
Oh, food and wine- you make me whole.
You know, on the other side of the fence.
As per usual.