Gabriel’s Poem

You must sit alone,
head balanced
on your left
hand, shoulders following
the lean, pen
in your right
hand stumbling
across the pages,
scrawling script
on the black marbled mead
you purchased
because where you
are, you had to have
the black marbled mead
composition book
popular in American
movies and T.V. series.

The streets you’ve shown
me are clean,
timeless spires crowned
with brittle cell phone towers.
Alien green kiosks offer information,
beckon seductively.

4 responses to “Gabriel’s Poem

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