Dave Fraundorfer

Khartoum

The bus is crowded, we’re soggy fries

wrapped in newspaper.

It’s another African dead phone-line main street;

locals peer at us with winter bird eyes.

For you, I want to march like a retired fireman.

Instead, my gait is a corroded zipper.

I’m not as brave as Christmas.

I’m sorry I lied about that.

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