by Arenthian Bohannan
Though the slab is lonely cold
Feel engine heat being so near the road.
Gripping tight every item I own
My battery drained from repeating a holy song.
Uniformed officials,
Pedestrians and their cross the street rituals,
I keep my composure though the situation is quite critical.
Habitual are my actions
Long lines and short rations,
Tomorrow on Park Avenue
I again will be the main attraction.
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