by Joseph Aprile

          Old man Savarese
          walks his battered dog
          beneath the wistful grace of
          early morning light.

          Cigarette dangles from his lips
          reminiscent of his sailor's youth,
          his age-worn face set
          in a toothless grimace.

          Old man Savarese
          his spine made wayward
          grappling with demons,
          his eyes fixed downward,
          moves within the air
          of his own ceaseless mutterings,
          curses the life
          from which he dangles
          and the dog that
          is his only solace.

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