Evening comes in Suburbia (a summer afternoon)

Callused hands

and bluegrass bands,

and Ferris-wheel love

from up above

The Atlantic City pier;

My life’s been going

pretty fine

when I stop to think

from time to time,

but it has it’s wears

and I’ve had my shares

of defeat and cold regret.

Now look ahead and close your eyes

as the sun begins to set,

But hold your scars close to you

until our Maker’s met;

For though it’s hard for us to do,

we must never let

ourselves Forget.


About marcofreschi

I live in the Ocean and write poetry View all posts by marcofreschi

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