It’s burn day where I’m from
and the fire whistle howls at noon.
The hardware store owner
shot himself last week.
Now there’s
nowhere
to buy a hose or
finish nails.
Tomorrow is Sunday
and the beer distributor
will be closed and there’s
nowhere
to buy beer.
The bakery is closed again.
I don’t know for how long.
There is
nowhere.
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 