Tuesday, October 18

How Many More Mornings

How many more mornings
this Mile End disaster
of scented along the brisk
walk our freshness steps?

The cup the car holds is
room o’erflow with leaves
of precious orange cracks
& trodden down crackling –

Is it my work that throws
me city-ward? or dirty
city glad glee of excitement
those last four miles

that now —unforced to
abide— are imprints of
my immature bright eyes
upsetting the locomotion

of every city-worker
gasping in the same
direction ? &my leather
shoes wearing older ,grey.

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