Village Inn at 3 in the MorningA Poem by justice
Previous Version This is a previous version of Village Inn at 3 in the Morning. A kid with a deflated red balloon looks over the booth at Village Inn at three in the morning.
His third-hand Power Ranger hand-me-down t-shirt stained by ten-year old grape juice.
His eyes, heavy with the weight of dependent parents, are bloodshot.
His hands are calloused like a thirty-year old construction worker in the middle of July.
Quietly he asks: “May I please borrow your ketchup?”
I oblige and hand him the bottle.
He thanks me, gives it to his father, and continues to eat his french fries. © 2010 justiceAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorjusticeOmaha, NEAboutI am an out of work, out of school, out of luck 21-year-old trying to make it in the world of writing. I am fairly new to sharing my work and I am just looking to improve myself. I welcome ALL critici.. more..Writing
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