Posted in poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

Ore

We were,

like two fire escape ladders

Always next to one another

Never touching

icebound in winter,

when the city is wrapped in gray.

Broiling in the long summer

when the city radiates in reds.

Never used

No emergencies

No hero’s parade

A penchant for all that is good

Until we are replaced

with new

sinewy

ladders

That may or may not

ever touch

or be heroic

or in love.

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