Thursday, August 11, 2016

Night, Fog, War


You, sir, are no gentleman,"

My poem said.

I lit two cigarettes

One for me, one for him.

Two on a match.


"Just like the movies,"

he said.


"Well, she's gone," I said.


Night.  Fog.  War.


"Of all the gin joints

in all the towns in all the world,

you had ..."


"Shut up," my poem requested.


"Let's just go."


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