WRITTEN ON THE TANGERINE
Days may have been mellow, but the
juice never was. Embittered as cases
of lighter fluid sent from the gorge.
Sisters and brothers I have none,
but that man's brother is my father's
son. Who am I? I think that was a
riddle they kept using on me.
-
The very thin handyman was nailing
the closet doors shut. He just kept
nailing and nailing and nailing.
Eventually, the train that runs
along the river came by, rushin
on its way north, to Albany.
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