NEXT STREET OVER

The memory place. A filling in

of the in-between with disarmingly

haunting voices wrapped in frail

burlap.  A cooperative sadness strives

to overtake.  Faces like mannequins

appear with irregularity, easing the

initial pains of those left behind;

everyone’s looking for a familiar song.

Red brick walls with a faded ad stares

from the second floor; a fire escape

hides part on the picture.  The mailman

curses at all dogs.  Even at night, the city

breathes hard.

 

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