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over the motel as I step out
into prairie pre-dawn chill.
At the Indian Café, two guys
tackle giant plates of ham and eggs,
barely chewing as they shoot the breeze.
Their cigarette smoke creeps
across the carpet, briefly forms
a shadow animal…
…and yesterday I saw a bird
lift from dried grass and vanish,
after never being there.
Old buddies meet
at table 6 A.M.–
faithful souls.
Four guys in their 60’s,
most likely pals since high school.
Silence handles them well.