“Jerry on Clinton”

Don’t look at me while I die

Thinks Jerry on his porch sucking cancer in a painful hunch

He stares at my dog but gives no recognition of my forced smile his way

Jerry’s old Tacoma with one hubcap and a fifty year fade defeated as he

Slumped and crumbling as Portlandia hipster zips by on what is now a ‘bike highway’, no more through traffic on Clinton Street

But Jerry is through.

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