seethingblue's Diaryland Diary

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the old man at the airport

his tired eyes scanned the room, his brown skin and, a worn-leather napsack draped casually around one shoulder and his frame small and hollow, drooping to the ground- to the blue-running carpet full of invisible shoe-tracks

they made him remove his boots

and spread his stickly legs

i averted my eyes down to my novel,

breathing in peppermint sticks of gum

repeating america, america.

6:00 p.m. - 2002-03-17

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