Thursday, April 13, 2017

NaPoWriMo, Day Thirteen, Poem Thirteen

Boston Poem

The city is a maze
where everyone tries
to draw a line
from wherever I am
to the other side.

I routinely get exiled
from favorite spots
by upward mobile transients,
eager  to ride the rails
like coattails.

Churches are where
they know where to round up
the wanting and unwanted.
The true holy find the closest steps
and stand their ground.

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