She rides her motorized scooter
to the morning gathering place.
Lights her cigarette,
she interrupts the scuttlebutt
by clearing her throat.
When I was young,
no no-account child would run
in front of my scooter. She patted
it like a favorite steed.
The conversation turned
to the no-accountedness
of the next generation.
I listen quietly, nodding my head
at each punc…
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