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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 16:36:19 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 4585
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => RUMMY
[time] => 2002-10-04 07:50:00
[hometext] => The encounter that occassioned this poem took place in Nov/Dec 1976, around Bloor and Spidina, Toronto, Ontario. But the date, the City, the location could easilly by any date, any city, anywhere.
[bodytext] => He stank.
In the bitter day his face. His outstretched hand were Marked by the cold. He shivered in his filthy Surplus overcoat. Surplus, That’s what he was: Surplus. Selling himself to death For no price at all. Trading on my quilty excess, My uncomfortable affluence, To score a few cents To buy the cheap red wine, The cheap red wine which made the Snubs and the disgust on the faces of the suckers he hit up, for a quarter, or a nickel, Fade into a happy mist. The cheap red wine that Made his contempt for himself , and For those who, seeking to be rid Of his smell and his presence, Supported his slow suicide, Easier to bear, easier to accept. So cold tonight God help the Rummy Thought I and gave him a dime. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 179 [topic] => 31 [informant] => aernby [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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