Siren At Three In The Morning Poem by Donal Mahoney
Siren At Three In The Morning
You want to abide by custom
but what kind of card
do you send
a man of those years
swept through the night
in a riot of snow
and wet streets
to a hospital quit
one month ago,
a fifth of his gut left,
that eaten through?
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: illness
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4/15/2024 1:58:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
