What I Left at the Circus Café

Editor back-issues, poetry

We’re sitting at an outdoor tableon the Broadway sidewalk watchingthe rhythmic pause-and-go of trafficthrough the Saratoga streets,the hum and squeals of engines and brakes,the hydraulic groan of the 473 bus as it unloadsits cargo of townsfolk and tourists,their chatter filling the summer airin the absence of birds.  A boy sitsat the bus stop with a silent guitar in hand,ignored by…

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