The Way of Things
by Dave Cowie
I was in the parking lot
over on Hillside
with Preston and Spider.
You didn’t show.
The sun rose high
and then dripped down low
scorching the concrete.
We split a six pack.
People living in the real world
came and went
carrying their paper bags
of workaday crap.
Sitting in that beat-up truck
cigarette holes in the seats
sweating and joking
we forgot why we were even there.
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Category: Urban Poem