Year: 
2015

he hung his hands through window bars
and cursed the street so that it knew
she sung her tune with cracked up lips
and cursed them all and pursed her lips
to whistle down the street she went
those sordid tunes her mind had lent

first the school bell
then the steeple’s
then the woman selling wires
and the flyers in the gutters
as if the gutters would know best

he flung his hands upon the sky
and wrung it as to wring it dry
he wore their curses on his feet
and knew that one day they would meet
as fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers
or stars and leaves and quiet things

and in the street
two tourists standing
unaware that they are lost
then the gunshot, the silence
and a whistling woman’s tune

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