Cold Inside

cold inside

Cold inside
Dripping water sound across
the warehouse floor
Rat squeak
A picture of an angel dimly lit
against the cinder block wall
She cried all her clothes off
The lead paint chips scattered below
Open the long canvas backpack
Withdraw the instrument
Begin the long wait
Think of my sins
Watch the sun appear
up through the hole
Am I like my father
Oh lord

Marshall Gains

Posted over on Poets Against The War