The Wait

your shadow fidgets
under yellow streetlamps, waiting
as the red taurus squeaks by
and parks up the street,
just beyond the old train station

as usual:
a figure emerges from the car
large and hunched and impatient,

he begins tossing crack and porn
from his trunk in a rush

your shadow watches and waits,
and when the man and his car
are gone, you rush in
to devour the goods


you wait every night by the station
in a canopy of an overcoat
feet attached to your shadow
unable to wake yourself up

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