4 Shorts

4 Shorts

In Paris

Somewhere in Paris alone
Watching rain change empty streets
To glistening black veins,
He stumbled.
From the hour and the Pernod.
Now finally, he thought,
I am a poet.

In Sacramento

Hitched from hell with an old farmer.
Slow truck, cold beer.
“Where yah goin’”
I paused. “Home”
“where’s that? ”
I paused again and thought.

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poem by Stuart Welch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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