For Twiglet #138

Denied Sleep

A poor man,
clutching his soiled felt hat
as his mother would have trembled
with her rosary,
stands before the bank officer’s desk.
He needs money
the way I need sleep. We are denied.

But the stars
glow in the dark.
So many promises.

 

 

7 thoughts on “For Twiglet #138

    • thanks. There was a Rockwell painting in my mind, but it doesn’t seem to exist. May have made it up.

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