Ode To A QC

I remember thinking
Over our molotov coffee
He begrudgingly,
Grumpily bought,
Coins on a cold café floor,
Coughing as usual,
How his rhubarb-leaf ears
Were so inexplicably big
They would surely catch
The hidden meanings,
Sounds and smoky nouns
Of our resounding planets,
The morning before
He won the case,
The morning before
Another dawn became itself,
Manifold in her own justice.

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