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Tuesday, February 04, 2014

Blues On Marine Drive (a poem)

The morning sun is bright
but the wind is cold,
penetrating two parkas and a down coat
all the way to the bone.

A barmaid sweeping cigarette butts from the sidewalk
stops to serve beer and breakfast to an old man
who enjoys the sparkle in her eyes
but wants nothing more
than beer and breakfast
and a place to stay warm
for an hour or two
while waiting for the bus.

(C) 2014 David H. Roche

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A practitioner of the art of living with the intent of learning how to die without fear.