1:30 in the AM in Camden


I’m sorry man I don’t got no money.

“Can you spare some change

for a cup of coffee?” I could

possibly. Although I got pains

and aches and a train to catch.

I’m not bitchin bout the cold

cause it’s my own fault I’m under-clothed.

And I’m sure nothing’s your fault neither.

No I don’t have a problem no more

with high pitched haunting machine sounds.

And I’m a little regretful about being so full,

cause none of it is nutritional.

Fried chicken and cheap lager.

I’m for sure restless in this empty street,

three minutes before the train leaves.

Sucking in carcinogens.

I’m underground and I was wrong

about the sounds now penetrating my skull.

Dive inside the metal coffin just in time.

Shaking in this unsure compartment,

this inanimate entrapment, enticing me

to free myself, but the end is not yet.

4 thoughts on “1:30 in the AM in Camden

  1. You’ve talked in several poems about being cold, and more than once, you’ve mentioned suffering excruciating pains. Now you’re back on the platform.At times the dread contained in these poems is almost too much to endure. That gives it the full,literary effect.

    Alexander Marshall pembroke5@aol.com

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