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Archive for the tag “the abandoned warehouse of words”

Post Office

mail

Hank had his post office,

and I have my warehouse. 

Dismal places,

on graveyard shifts together,

a generation apart. 

We also both had San Pedro. 

We both got out. 

One of us dead,

the other dying. 

Because we all die a little,

every day. 

Some of us are just better at it

than others.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Easy


Easy. 

Like a walk to the corner store for a six-pack and pretzels. But someone burned the corner store to the ground and didn’t tell you about it till you got there, then stuck a gun in your back and said,

“Gimme all your beer money, fool!”

So you walk home. 

Easy. 

But that same someone burned your house to the ground and didn’t tell you about it till you got there, then stuck a gun in your back and said,

“Now gimme your pretzel money, fool!”

Easy. 

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday 

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