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Friday, October 31, 2014

Home Town

This is a town of empty houses.

Houses not empty of people but empty of human ties.
TVs blare, desktop monitors glare.
Old eyes glimmer with memories, old hearts beat with hope.
The skip of tiny feet on gravel, the clasp of sturdy young hands;
Only a festive gift package.

Once in a while cab doors slam, bags wheel in.
A few days of racuous mirth and eating out.
Drinks flowing, handy cams rolling.
A state visit by the "diplomats";
Their diplomas or degrees, the tickets to escape the town.

This is a town of empty houses my dear,
No heartbreak hotel is needed here.

A small balcony lined with potted plants,
And shelves lined with dusty books;
Or a nice big house with spacious lawns
And tables with chess pieces, single rooms and quiet dorms.


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