Sadness
is a liquor store.
Shelves filled with
over-priced, dusty,
mid-grade booze.
taking up space.
losing potency.
The porn rack
does brisk business
filling wayward libidos
with dirty images.
The man out front
down on his luck,
always one quarter away
from salvation.
And we stop in
every now and again,
because it's a
part of life.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
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1 comments:
Wow! This is really good; the first stanza especially. It has a Bukowski vibe. Liquor stores are never bright, shiny places like its supermarket counterparts. Liquor store's are so mundane and you catch that very well here. I only trip up on the word "brisk" as it doesn't seem to fit the poem's tone, but otherwise I like this one a lot.
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