Lonesome Along The Hudson

3 Oct

After college I work graveyards at Mobil Mart:
the register, the pumps, the bullet booth.
Just me, fluorescent lights, and piped in fifties.

Sunday night, a beat up limo, a man
climbing from the back, his expression
an alloy mostly iron. He buys Raleigh 100’s,
turns to exit and I quip, be careful out there.
He curses, you know somethin’ I don’t?
I say, no, but he’s not done forging insolence
with eight pound dirty words and muscled scorn.

Finally, he quits.
The limo hits the street. I get outside for a smoke.

Under darkness,
lights on barges move like mourners up the river,
or they slip away downstream to New York City.

Any thoughts?

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