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Northern Town Blues

by Nik Hein 2 months ago in sad poetry
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Blind morning

Is wheezing once again,

moth-battered by fog

The tired sun again

Crawls out from behind the rooftops,

And the busses are yawning

with their hissing doors,

For once more.


I should not know, no, no,

The empty glances

(as if made of glass) of strangers

Of people who are not my own,

And the taste of yesterday’s rain,

The tantalizing

The slipping slumber.

Eh, I wish I didn’t know…


What’s the matter? Here it comes again.

Blaring the horn.

The sleepless old good ferry

No rest for him today

And they will not be sorry…

Work, brother, is such a thing…

Yeah, what’s the big deal.


And you look on as if you were dreaming

And you see the homeless

Searching through the trash bags

Well, it’s their grocery

(if only not for constant swearing)

And here is driving by

Some golden boy in a fancy car

Feels like a dream.


As much reluctantly,

the chunky day creeps away.

And I must follow

(not much choice!),

I am warmed by whiskey,

Too lazy to find any thought

And everything is so obscure…

sad poetry

About the author

Nik Hein

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