The recluse.

Author:Wilson, James Matthew
Position::Poem
 
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Mishawaka

From a bowed plastic chair and balcony Three stories up, the sun like a hot plate, Rain gutters thick with blackened leaves, I see The trailer park, the Toll Road, and a great Brown dumpster bear their proper loads in peace. Between refuse and refusal, here I sit, A blank stare for those passing in the street, And none for news come in the mail: for it's More serious than the words my neighbors greet Me with as they get home from work, has whipped The back of my pride as deep as I can stand. I've heard the laughter of rejection, lived Where bodies turn on reflex from the man Whose...

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