Thank you, Anni. Maybe I'm a masochist because I do like making things difficult for myself. I considered rhyming each line as well, but that was a bridge too far. Perhaps next time...
The duty free shop,
airport field of dreams,
where responsibility stops
amid fantastic schemes,
and alcohol, the fuel for fools,
confuses all the facts,
makes nonsense of the rules,
dispensing with the tax.
Line count: 8
Rhymed abab
For Express It In Eight, 10.12.23
Prompt: Write a poem about duty.
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