Postcard From Harmony Parking Lot Poem by Wyn Cooper

Postcard From Harmony Parking Lot



The teens have gathered, because they are teens.
They wear brown shirts faded to beige, black
boots, low-slung jeans. The way they stand
is called jaunty. Cigarettes burn through
their words, smoke blows through their hair,
and the way they stare at passersby blends
reptile with bird, spleen with wonder,
your past with their present to you.

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Wyn Cooper

Wyn Cooper

United States / Michigan
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