The Cold Still Raw by PoeticMindset

at the top of the station
on a Friday in February
the cold still raw
biting at exposed skin
I am waiting
the sounds of the homeless
tin can lady reverberates
down the staircase
the doors open close
prolonged open
the door swinging in motion
in people flow motion
carried in or out

Read the entire poem HERE

(C) Poeticmindset

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