Holding On

I cling to your old coat

like must

and thumb the cuff where your pulse would be.

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Dirt Eaters/Gold Eaters

Under the golden sun

the harvest becomes ripe and ready.

The apples are crisp.

The tomatoes are juicy.

The carrots are flecked with dirt

and are wiped off on the grass.

 

In a brown leather chair,

someone sits leisurely.

The light is low and soft.

The tobacco is sweet and heady.

The champagne is flecked with gold

and sparkles in its fluted glass.