John W. McEwers (6/20/1980 / Nova Scotia, Halifax)
A Lonesome Walk Down High Street
To score, you need two things:
money is one
the other isn't important
In the corner alley a few men gather
'round a trash can, its inside glowing
orange from a newspaper fire.
Ash drifts from ten-floor buildings
and try as I might,
I can't keep from catching them on my tongue.
There are lights, but only some
and they are enough to show a path
down the sidewalk to a friend's house,
someone I reluctantly call friend.
inside a Victorian home, replete with candelabras
on every surface, every herringbone wood floor
all burning to the base, wax pooled and dried
in uneven clumps.
I see my friend waiting for me
he knew I would return
He holds out one hand
and says: 'Money...'
I place the cash in his palm
and take what he gives me
and the walk back
is false sunshine
Comments about this poem (A Lonesome Walk Down High Street by John W. McEwers )
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