Underneath the Arches

Posted on September 9, 2017 by Lindsay Craik

tramp

Don’t you love the sweet smell?

Solvent in the dark,

On a table top of despair,

With red clinking bottles,

Feeding rough stubble people:

Plum certain not to be here

In future years.

About Lindsay Craik

Writer & Poet Poetry, plays and short stories
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