Streetlight
it isn’t all hard,
the world I mean.
there are soft things, too.
it isn’t all
coffee stains, shattered glasses,
dead cats, and broken streetlights
but sometimes it just gets so dark
in the middle of the street
late, on a Tuesday night
that I forget about
fresh baked croissants, my mother,
alive cats, and stars.
There are a lot of those out tonight,
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