i sit on the top
step and look down.
who's up at this hour,who's in
the kitchen,
sitting at the old table,
eating
cold chicken in the dark,
drinking a beer,
a cigarette burning in
an ashtray.
what worries him so.
what keeps
him here.
why can't he sleep.
regret, remorse, fear?
i suspect all three, but
i'll never know.
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