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farther back, so your own Grandma said,
you were of the line of
Charlemagne, Holy Roman Emperor,
who slaughtered Krum the Bulgar
King and drank tea from his skull for life.
this is not your memory.
instead
you faced down this man's wrath
you came to the door
and drove out all night with his
daughter
and lit cigarettes in the dark
like the fires of Norse pillage.
today, not your father, those
eyes that blazed,
take your arm in surrender.
leading him to the toilet, urine
falls along the marbled floor.
witness: this little battle,
this tiny conquest.
this lion of the household
crumbling slowly.
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