An endless parade of cement walls,
paper cups filled with rainwater, steps
leading all the way down to the road
to nowhere. Beside the slab
of indeterminate style, a single man
reaches into his pocket, takes out a penny,
rubs out the year
so he won't know if it's older
than he is. Asks for just a single quarter
so he can buy
a little bit of love tonight, or
at least a nice facsimile of it. Can't afford
to tear down the skyline,
but I slip him a picture of the moon,
wrapped in old newsprint images
from the Kennedy era, walking past
before I even have time to hear his reply:
you get home safe tonight, you hear?
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