Lucky loser

I find a half pack of stale smokes

behind some novels of

Bukowski’s drunken knowledge

look into the night with a smile

walk through the rains of January

too the bar

without stepping on any lines

I do that at times

when there’s a poem in me

that wants to escape

the madness within

I head for that smoke room

sit in the corner

with pen and paper

two mugs of beer

I drink alone

I let that poem escape

onto blank paper.

Publish in 

STORYBOX

an anthology from the

thursdays

Writing Collective.

Edited by Elee Kraljii Gardiner.

www.thursdayspoemsandprose.ca

Otter Press,Vancouver.B.C

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