Image for post
Image for post

His Heart

His heartbeat was a band.

Marching through his years.

The cliche of the drums.

The slide of the trombone.

The jazz of the saxophone.

The raucous clang of the cymbals.

Marching sixty-three years,

Members tired,

Lay down

In the street.

Written by

I write for the local paper, but I am not a traditional journalist. Actually, I’m not a traditional anything!

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