A six pack of Canadians
On the side of the road
One can out and open
He gently lays it down
And straightens to walk
With an uneasy swagger
His tobacco red fingers
On tobacco grey beard
And on his face anger
I grudgingly approach
And our eyes meet
So I nod and he smiles
His faint strength shames
Me and my passive evasion.
Categories: Poetry
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