He comes every afternoon
To Red Road ,
Smooth macadam...
He comes wearing a pair
Of knee length pants
Holed and patched and holed
In many places...
The smooth macadam
Shines like the baked cake
Straight out of oven
Unlike the potholed alley
That led to a dingy five square;
Don't they belong to the same?
Smooth macadam and the potholes?
Holes and the patches?
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The State Funeral
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