Broke

Ernest Hemingway once wrote: The hardest lesson I have had to learn as an adult is the relentless need to keep going, no matter how broken I feel inside.

 Textile Mill parking lot

Lights still shine at 4 AM. Slowly,

early morning workers stagger into the

workshop.   Ready to fulfill another twelve hours

of fabric boredom.

Coffee in hand, punch timecards into another day

Broken, Broken, Broken======

 Broke

Just the Truth

 Waiting for the bookstore 

to open.

 Messy notes in a 

tiny notebook—inspired

by trips to Worcester alleys &

late morning jitters.

 Save the crony mask, while

others grudgingly said no

to the offer.

 My right,

as a condemned asshole.

 Escapades,

 I was observant walking

into, knowing the fucking risks. 

 Finally, I’m left with

the years now passing

 me.

Everyone knows—Death always wins

(photograph- Mike Zone)

The Old Town Nothing 

 I witnessed ten years of

flames running over

& extinguishing former saviors

into a flicker of unforgettable fire.

Hometown feelings of lost

filler—dust settles around

your feet as calming walks now

equate to a lonely end.

Few self-proclaimed heroes left

at old local hang outs, appearing 

sickly as they creep by the

cash register, ready for a foretold death.

My name?

Now numb.

Fleeing toward the familiar boulevard corner. 

Where young pearls roam about.

Faces I’m not acquainted with.

I keep to myself, smoking a cigarette, observing the new breed, lacing the

new strain of Bellingham chosen.

Taking a last drag, I flipped my Marlboro to the ground, waved goodbye & headed to the bar.

Untethered from the townies.

Who have no idea of my aging identity.

Take a fin from the wallet to buy a beer.

Start my swallowing of forgetful tears

toward the old backyard.

No longer a friend in sight.

Acted apathy

Unexamined life not worth living