Casey's
Beneath her green awning
(down a flight of stairs)
you can hear the glasses clinking.
Survivor of a forgotten age,
her memories gather dust
on these city streets.
Monument to a time
that exists in dust covered novels,
history peers through wood paneling.
Taps pour amber.
Glasses fill quickly,
empty almost as fast.
Her walls could be
history books speaking
through yellowed pictures.
Cars pass in the rain
beneath streetlight.
Inside, glasses clink.
She warms us from the inside..
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