Bouncing

The virtues of the city, and of poverty
Are that one doesn't have to work too
Hard to keep away from one one
Used to love. Pack up the car, and pick
A place, another dump a couple bus stops
Off from where one used to live. An hour
Or two of setting up, of spreading sheets
Upon the bed, and putting toiletries into
A prison-style metal cabinet. Bread onto
The sticky counter. Condiments and beer
Into the 50s-era Frigidaire, and, after that,
Reconnaissance to find the nearest
Grocery store, the bar the broken locals
Haunt, at peace. There's not the slightest
Chance you'll ever see her here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 152 times
Written on 2019-05-17 at 02:05

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