written By
The lot’s not really vacant.
Weeds grow aplenty.
And so does broken glass.
And empty syringes.
And used condoms.
There was even a dead body
found here once.
A homeless guy
who froze to death
one bitter cold January.
He stumbled into here
after dark.
He heard there was a vacancy.
He heard wrong.
More from this Author
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John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, Between Two Fires, Covert and Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Birmingham Arts Journal, La Presa and Shot Glass Journal.
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