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JOHNNY M. TUCKER, JR.
In a State of Poverty
A blade of grass
limp and tired
stranded on a dry
summer's day
awaits
a-long-time-coming
the very least
a single drop of rain.
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A poet--sitting on a curb--
plucks it from its roots and
then blindly tosses it aside
​
his soul famished.
​
From where he sits
watches his own hand
brush atop that same
rough patch of grass,
all the while awaiting
a single verse, a syllable
rich in sound.
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by Johnny M. Tucker, Jr
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