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Friday In A Dying Mall
A cross dresser who only
Strolls by the hair salon
And the empty stores at
The far end of the mall,
A wanna be gang who
Only targets a Christian
Bookstore and gift shop,
A group of sweet old ladies
Long past penises and affairs
Dancing in their chairs,
Awash in memories of
Things that were and might
Have been had they only
Realized it back then,
All smiling, talking at
The same time, pretending
That what they missed
Doesn’t really matter.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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