Poetry from New Mexico

  NIGHT CRAWLER     I roam this world on sidewalks littered with images of violence. Maintenance crews work overtime, even on Sundays and Christmas — stout men, crawling on padded knees, scrub concrete with caustic detergent, broad steel-bristled brushes, and elbow grease.  The stains remain. My satin slippers darken and fray. Each dawn finds …

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