something like a love-song lurched across the room
and my heart was less than a dried-up crust of bread
the night pavement moving me far
from any place I could call home sweet hotel
oh the mexican belly dancers crying nada nada
oh the feisty mice with delicate feet and
the black wind cold as a hearse
advertising allows you to choose said the billboard
in god we trust said the money in the pocket
of the three-fingered man asking hopefully
can I buy you a drink honey.

About the author

Janice D. Soderling is a wannabe time traveler. There must be a better warp to live in. A previous contributor to Literary Bohemian, she…

Read the full bio

Issue 11 · January 2011

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