A Note From You:

You are getting on ok,
but your landlord is a difficult person
to arm wrestle with.

The food store near you is large
but doesn’t have grapes worth a damn,
or the toothpaste you like.

It doesn’t have faux-Italian pizzas either
as if faux-Italians are not native
to this particular region.

The police are good to you though,
and the drunk tank is roomy,
the kind of place a man can be proud to wake up in.

The kind of place you can talk to Albert,
The cop on duty, about his disrespectful kids
and failing marriage.

I finger the lined paper, picturing the two of you
on either side of the metal bars,
and wonder which one I should feel sorry for.

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