There are still travelers
Even at this late hour.
A radio is playing “Joy To the World.”
They sit and stare,
Clutching packages
Wraped as they are wrapped,
With some of the corners torn
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A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five.
by Sam TaylorI stepped off the Greyhound into a light rain, streetlights
slurred, just shy of the border, a line of taxis at the curb,
waiting, right where my mother said they would be.
I had never gone anywhere ...