Poetry: By The Smokestack

They unload life’s lead
into unseen enemies
machine gun memories flying
rapid fire
recollections and musings.

And they yawn and doodle
ink stains for amusement
their purpose loosened
aimless wandering and
thoughtless pursuit
of quiet relief.

And they nod with
grim understanding
as the bird dances
by the smokestack
silent recognition
of lives interrupted.


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