time stops in
jammed high road streets
and exhumes the people
their underground coffee

cri de coeur spray
smears
their mirror-shine
see thru people shields

uniquely packaged
they wait for strokes of
luckless inspiration
poise incarceration

death they hazard
in the soft shoulder marsh
on memory peat they already see
paper flowers and a Jesus

good husband loving father
your laugh your smile
wear now the detour
it is the new way home


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