The Garbage Man

The poster board in the window

across the street fades fast.  It’s only

been three months, since

the woman in the tan brick ranch

put the number of her son’s jersey

in the bay window with white Christmas

lights blinking on and off as synapses of thoughts

snap on and off.  Her son was crushed

by a garbage truck.  His blood washed clean

away.  His number is up, but still continues to fade.


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