837: Stephen Fry and I

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I knew I was senescent
when I matched Stephen Fry,
in corduroy and moleskin,
timeless like our lies,
all hung too loose
off our post-fifty frames,
but masking quite nicely
the weight we have gained:
Our jackets flap wildly
above the cut of our jib,
a good length to hide
the pee which we drip.

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