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Behind a clear, glass veil

Facing a snarling, spitting sea

And the dim shadow of Georges Island

I spent nine dollars

From Mother’s retirement cheque

On gelato down at the bay

Birra Moretti in a coffee cup

And for a frat boy twist

Greek fries with chopsticks

Outside this farmer’s market

A distant cousin with payot and a suit of sky-by-night

Nods his head and fedora in a courtly fashion

To the bag boy and his toil

And the train enters and do-si-dos

With kindred spirit trains

To the strain of whistles blown

For dream time

 

 

 

Nathaniel S. Rounds has published in Scrivener, Cynical Review, and Arsenic Lobster for the past twenty-six years. A reformed photographer born in Wichita Falls, Texas, Nathaniel S. Rounds writes from Halifax, Nova Scotia.

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