Iron Poem by Carolyn Michael
Iron
I said I wouldn’t let it get to me
But sometimes we all lie
From the blacksmith’s window I’m staring
At the bustling crowd outside
They weave and jockey and
Say their cream puff hellos
And I just stand there idly
Stuck in a goddamned doze
The orange glow has withered away
The iron is cold and hard
But I sit there banging anyway
Send myself my own regards
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4/30/2024 6:51:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
