from this week in July, 2017 (I was 72)
Bob Dylan has bad breath
used to be fresh as a new thought
now as stale as any old man in the park
Quite some time ago he wrote his mother
to say he still brushed his teeth
Now she’s gone and he may have stopped
The newspaper on the bench has an ad for dental implants
Every old item could use an extraction
stuffed with a wad of newsprint to stop the bleeding
before another toothless song mumbles out
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