$300 rent

The $300 in rent.

The lifelong wait for those monthly checks.

The Top Ramen encrusted pots
beside your squeaky spring mattress.

The bedside cups filled with
piss and cigarette butts.

The solace that never comes.

The solace that never was.

The Autumn skies are now
void of kites.

Your nostrils missing the
rusty smell of an at capacity


Raymond Mitchell Strickland Jr.

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