by Kevin Ridgeway
darkness descends early
on autumn streets,
dim lights echo
from window to window
the players on the stage are
met to the wind’s fanfare,
dead leaves dancing in front of their
eyes marking their outdoor disguises
as they gather aluminum and glass
from the trash, Waiting for Godot
purgatory transcribed into one sentence
obscenities whispered breathlessly
across flannel chests chins drooped
inward looking down for fortune
that is hidden and scattered
across the bedroom neighborhood
and no where beneath the
spotlights of the street lamps
the daylight comes and the
shadow plays end for another
twelve hours until more
sequels are born.
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