New Poem Old Poet
New Poem Old Poet
I stand again facing the eternal west.
I am an old dude now and,
I miss the western sunsets on Hoover Street.
Those bright orange never-ending endings,
Presenting themselves again like hovering waiters,
Carrying trays of bottled heart-quenchers.
Life is the hat check girl in little orange cap.
When the lights are low,
She steps away privately to dance.
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