on the way to work
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adjacent to the scaly
skinned not so old
alcohol filled man
i've seen before here
sheltered from his bowery
bedroom sidewalk clearing
his phlegm loaded throat
roaring like the number six
train rolling into spring
street station his spittle
blob settles crudely next
to my artless shoe too
early to be qualmish quickly
i move down the platform
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Poem by Janet Cannon
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