The PawnbrokerA Poem by Jacob L. Moeller
The old pawnbroker rarely stopped drinking.
He'd get to the bottom of a bottle and break it. He fiddled with forgotten wedding rings- collecting limp hand shakes and memories and money. He bore his dusty grandfather clock face looked like a long rough road lost amongst stars and moonshine. © 2011 Jacob L. Moeller |
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Added on September 20, 2011 Last Updated on September 20, 2011 Author
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