the shopping mall doors open at almost midnight?
hmmm, i enter and wonder who the security guard protects?
the headless mannequins behind glass?
i’ve had enough of my echoing footsteps
and escape outside into
french fry air and old dublin pub’s revolving door;
the lipstick, jew’s harp and seamus.
so many poems comedies tragedies
will fling from hearts souls tongues
airborne this evening
for a first and only surge
in ales and amber and fate of us all,
rolling out to sea jambalaya.
*broken bats baseball
the 6 hole