(I'm running out of reserves and so many of the rest of the poemlets don't seem all the way cooked...here's a shorty.)
man crossing street
sunday morning early on a sunny brisk
carrying glass cup latte and scent of bacon
drag of cigarette
across kentish town road
how nice to be a man
who smokes while drinking coffee
cooks and eats bacon
crosses street without looking
certain he will not be harmed.
i couldn’t do it. not any of it.
c. e. amato
4.11
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