The past just won't shut up.
The architect that
cranks the wheel
keeps coffee in its cup.
Miss Karma sips on sweet tea
and waves a paper fan;
and Jerry heads
to work again
in a primer-gray sedan,
were cities grow like ant hills
in fields of golden corn,
and ants for miles
keep pressing on
the gas and break and horn.
And Jerry keeps a tight lip.
His head just won't shut up.
Then he runs a light
and cranks the wheel...
Jerry, please wake up.
R.L. Johnson, 2020
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