Long, Long Days

I’m at a bar.

A bar on the corner of 51st and Union.

My mother is far,

Far away, taking communion.

 

She’s praying,

For me. For me and my sinful ways.

I’m saying,

Mark, pour me another, it’s been a long, long day.

 

Sometimes, the pastor

Takes her money, and nothing happens.

So I asked her

When did words start to mean more than actions.

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