Friday, May 19, 2017

face it


wind blows light steady on
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 that was
his potato-chip factory.
and the clock keeps spinning

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