The million incandescent bulbs
that line Gibbs St
from Barrett Place to Main
go out just after midnight. Straggling
smokers sit or stand in the alley
toss a final fag as they gag
Down the dregs of their cups and delay
The long ride home
To empty pillows
Or perhaps pillows bearing
Misplaced heads
Hairs of the wrong color.
This lonely midget rabble displaced
Some disgraced by those
Who sit in comfort
on their shoulders.


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Robert L. Martin
más de 4 años

Tales of the lonesome traveler

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Imrogue Survivorofall

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