feeling like gabe as he pulls on that cigarette,
nicotine lighting-up his brain cells, arranging
his next narrative forming his train o' thought.

i hunch over a tad, assuming the position.
waited, but gabe's stories remained silent,
nary a story came into my head, nary a thought.

he must do something different than i;
he has a head, two ears, two, two, two;
and i just need one, one strong story.

he'd break about here with a one liner.

carry the thought into the next train car,
flip that last cigarette into the wind,
and chew on another thought just for me.

he sometimes makes two lines fill my mind
with thoughts of what ifs, and maybes;

all the time hunched over and pulling on that fag.

and i wanna write a story like gabe in couplets,
a pome dressed in long clothes for the wear
and a heavy mind from the thoughts filling it.

i done told you, i wanna write a story like gabe.
and leave the smoldering butt on the crack
in the train station boards for a bum to pick up.

04/21/2008

Posted on 04/21/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan