Brother Town
I met a man who spoke in tongues
just passed where his pride was hung,
his town it stretched barely yards
a stranger opposite shuffled his cards.
The marking on his face and hands,
told of years living off his land,
he’d preach his stories and old wives tales
about the communist and how they’d failed.
After sometime he spoke of his life
a woman who loved him, a friend and wife
he’d found a new comfort in us strangers,
a comfort that bared no hidden dangers.
“One day”, he said, “I’d like to leave,
to replace the memories I so often grieve”,
“around here the time it rarely changes,
same people, same faces, in all the same places”
He was leaving to find a brother town,
with no more nostalgia to grind him down,
he already felt his new life had begun,
just passed where the rivers run.
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