Thursday, December 4, 2014

POPULAR SONG

Even at the most 
bankrupt 

of bus stops—folks 
still gather;

all kinds—some clutching 
soft cups

of what looks 
to be decent hot stuff—while others

with their rough
hands rubbing their 

charming long faces—
cluck back

and forth—in
complicated tongues,

but not 
without a detectable—sweet few  

notes 
of resignation—on their breaths

regarding 
the weakly abided 

rudeness
of—our weather.

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