For the first green river in the snow
turn left;
find it there--
back alleys
of fur-greasy
rats lying
dead outside the
finest restaurant in town.
The dishwasher is there too,
be-aproned and grimy, short sleeves in
mid-winter and
smoking a
cigarette.
Habs are playing tonight, he says.
Big game. Big game.
I think
we're gonna win.
2 comments:
I could smell the poem. In a good way.
facebook edit, may 2014:
Newtown, winter. (January 10, 2012)
For the first green river in the snow
turn left;
find it there--
back alley
rats lying fur-greasy
dead by the
doors of the
best spots in town.
The dishwasher's there too,
be-aproned and grimy, short sleeves in
mid-winter and
smoking a
cigarette.
Habs are playing tonight, he says.
Big game. Big game.
I think
we're gonna win.
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