The man knew his stuff
Wiping his feet on the mat
he was escorted down into the
cobwebby basement
furniture of every variety
sparred for a place
like in the film Raging Bull
His pal Joe waited in the truck
living with him now up
in Fox Chase where Walmsley
a master who became a rogue
drank his beer and returned
from fishing at Brigantine
Shawn, a large man, pants falling
below his waist like the new
teenage fashions, walked upstairs
and looked at the drip drip drip
of the bathroom faucet
Shook his wet head and muttered
I'll figure it out, I'll ask
my friends. Some of them will
recognize it. Shouldn't take long.
The purple crocus with the sun
yellow center became one with
the water. Silence. Total silence.
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