Same Times (a poem)

Same Times (a poem)

The same times,
places, stations,
worn out faces
for the status
others give us.

Digging to throw
more away out
of sight, like cigarettes
out the car window,
the smoke turning
to clouds that shift
across the sky,
if we ever looked up.

The same cases,
traces, replacements,
torn down exits
for the races
others set us.


David A. Church

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