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T is for Town
In a Town with No Name
The junkyard, the graveyard
truck bodies rusting in the sun.
At the diner coffee comes in chipped mugs--
warms the chill bone rattlings
Tomato soup and meatloaf,
Wednesday again.
Stones thrown at factory windows
until the last shards sprinkle
dirty snow.
In line at the corner market,
dollar crumpled in your fist--
this time you'll come back
cash in the ticket
leave it all behind you.
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