manners

i have no right to feel; i have disqualified
myself. the windshield man who works
the corner of market and 82nd has more
dust-ups with legitimate desires than myself.
his come sweeping along like the train,
screeching and rattling nearly to pieces
heedless, focused, pressing down upon
the expressive track, the electric rant. mine
idle, polite in neutral. bothering no one.

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