Quick Exit

All the foes exit in bunches,/savvy heads mill around in crowds;/those who never gave one jot./As they leave in the predawn/they shout and brush off rain./ I stare out the window,at comrades-in-arms,/ framed by inanimate glass./Their harm comes from blue films of Eden/blue films unreeling which way in the air./ I’m left with only street shoes/my bare feet rest on a sawdust floor./I know why they’re angry. They ran out of money.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s