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Writer's pictureCharles Joseph Albert

TERMINAL DISEASE, 1996



In a cold darkened room in a suburb of Paris,

With the rest of the tenants all out on the town,

I had been stuck here all day and all night,

Awash in a cathode ray light.


I hadn't set foot in the great scenic city;

I hadn't done anything much there at all…

And I see by the glint of your eye

What a life there was, passing me by.


Exciting and colorful Paris surrounded,

The art was amazing in all the museums

And just strolling those grandes avenues

Was a pleasure one shouldn't refuse.


Or I could have lingered in shops and cafés

Full of beautiful women all dressed to the nines

Waiting for a stranger to buy them a drink—

Or that's what I'd like to think.


But I couldn't go out, I was stuck in that hole.

A slave to that computer all night and all day,

Until—and I know this was hopelessly lame—

I had beat that damn solitaire game.


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