Thursday, June 17, 2010

Free Meal Deadbeat

I told her about the connection of words to a page,
stanzas and verse to the soul
She cried: "Deadbeat. Get a job. Get out".
I wanted to defend the poet's right to his words, to his heart
But her voice spoke firmness
She had a meal ticket in her hand
This job my fingers held: Busboy/Poet Wanted, No Experience Required

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