the wall clock says near eleven,
but it's only nine.
the clock stopped some yesterday.
i have a new book to read, a couple...three.
we go to the town old place for breakfast;
not a century old, but what they've got.
the old regulars show up, usually.
no coffee for me this morning.
gary a questionable walks in, walks out.
no old guys at their table,
mr. becker died.
his funeral is this morning.
we live in the building...
his potato-chip factory.
and the clock keeps spinning
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