The window above
seems open, tho I can't
feel the winter winds burying
my old car in ice across the street,
so tomorrow, with wool hat pulled
down tight and jacket zipped
up to my chin, I'll be out there like
an ice fisherman chopping away at the outside and,
Christ, the inside of the damned thing
all frozen, and when it melts it'll short
out my radio, drip by drip
causing the digital clock to read
1:Ho or 1:68 and Joe says it like,
"Oh, it's one-H-zero!" outside the diner
where Den had to get Spaghetti and garlic bread
with no meatballs, and we drank coffee together
into the night thinking, what are we gonna do now?
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