Five mile traps into the white tundra
the meringue northeaster of two feet of snow.
canvas shoes let the wet soak into my wool socks
Thanks mom moisture never touched my feet
I have your chile recipe in my mind, in my pack
and my belly waits to get to my door, across the pained wooden
floor perfect in itself, the twisted knotty pine with spur marks and powder
and flour my table where I keep my lantern
I have bermuda rum in my pack
the snow will return this evening and the sun is sinking
the street lamps make the snow pink and the road is dangerous.
I love all who I allow inside, and everyones welcome to my feast…
I pass a cold negro man as I walk through the slums of London
he Asks ' whats happening baby'
So much soul so much gusto.
the should has been removed from men like you and me, and the language of
humanity is three words too long. and longer than this road.
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Comments about this poem (Five Miles by jerome moore )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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