he leans against his backpack,
untwists brown paper
from the neck of a bottle
and savors the first sweet swallow,
quenching, burning.
The wine winks in sunset's light
like fireflies on hazy lawns.
Slowly he unpacks the years
and thinks he hears his mother
calling him home.
Sue Scalf
Sue, great, a very good, near perfect end. Honored.
Thanks.
Gary
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