NaPoWriMo 7/4/16: Kenny

Kenny was a funny kind of brother

Spent most of the time on his back

Watching sky go over

Or crouched in the dust with the ants

To hear them whisper.

 Kenny lives in Canada now

In a heated apartment block

But I always imagine him out in the snow

And walking off into the dark.

His songs come over the radio

Beautiful fractured lines

For women he’s seen in the subway

Or in glossy magazines

He sings them sweet and sad and low

For ladies who can’t insist

That he love in a foreign language, or give

What he never has possessed.


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