Chopstick Brood

by Steven J. Serafiani

To the old stockyard companion slouch-
a couch faint,
Senegalese makes noodles for
chopstick hounds.

There is a place we’ve been to,
it sticks out of the earth like
a green thumb
there is a horizon and a skyline
and through that corridor of
self;
you will find taxman, you will find
gangster, you will find housewife bored and you will
find a brooding chopstick fuss;
you will find everyone in
between.

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