If I am repaired, can we meet again for the first time, in all of the places I have feared to go, and then, again, in all of the places I will have forgotten, if I am repaired?



Sunday, October 6, 2013

Americana I

We stand in line, four deep
now five,
the backbone of the Nation,
growing impatient
for another shot at the lottery,
our smokes and beer.
The Pakistani boy is alone
and apologizes for the wait,
though none of us bitch.
Rather, we sympathize.
We’ve been there, we say
we’ve done that.
We’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.