Wilson And Broadway At 4 A.M. Poem by Donal Mahoney
Wilson And Broadway At 4 A.M.
Chicago
Sunday evening. Drunk
and strolling home.
On the way an hour now,
block after block,
bar to bar.
Weekend's gone,
Monday's turning.
Along the way
his swollen fingers find
parking meter posts
are an endless xylophone.
Plunked, they play
the anthem
of a life misspent.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
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4/19/2024 1:52:34 PM # 1.0.0.1119
