Poetry

The Same

by

Adrian Bartholomew

Maybe it's gravity that leads me
to this place...some malicious spiritual
law.
"Just passing through," I say.
And now, I'm stuck.
Smoking the same cigarettes on the
same porch, belonging to the same
girl.
The same weight on my chest, the
same cough and
the same empty flask.
The same friends, and I think they're
even the same age as when
I left them.
Nobody moves here!
They just degrade.
But I guess I'm no better;
I'm still promising the same things
and chasing after the same tired dreams.
Hell, I've even the same hat
and the same shirt on
as when I left this place.