permanently stained an American flag
do-rag on his sweaty squash --watches
the Route 16 traffic…
Assuming each car had lost
nickels to spend in the formality antique shops
spewed about in the north country.
Losing his way years ago…
while boasting of lifetime
failures every night at his favorite bar.
Worshipping goddesses who
dwindled in the dark, eyeliner crowd.
Entangled in the position
of the town
nut case.
“Subpoena the herd”
“Subpoena the herd.”
He screamed when, finally—
orderlies from the home had to
take him away.
Today, back in the town that
flamed his wanderer enterprise.
Lying down on the trusty
sleeping bag.
The Gorham Park Dweller has
become a polite ignore.
A tailored cup of coffee, witnessed as
part of the morning routine.
His story is dead.
Existence useless.
As he rolls over on his
left side…
Avoiding the sun.
Dan Provost has been published throughout the small press for many years. He is the author of nine books and lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura
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