From an open window
in a strange room on a cold night
I heard an old man
cackling rhythmically
from a soiled sleeping bag
on the pavement nearby.
It was a craze,
utter disbelief in the state of things
and the irony
of his ragged yet successful escape.
I empathised,
despite my own ugly contribution
to the farce.
Less like the old man cackling
and more like my paperless typewriter,
I am but an ornament diverted from purpose.
Lulled by his vocal deliverance
into restless sleep under synthetic duvet,
I awaited the bell
inevitably followed by the pantyhose,
the loafers.
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Tyler is a closet creative writer and freelance business writer. She spends her time drifting
between Southern Thailand, Northern England and her childhood stomping ground, the
United States.
Connect with her on Instagram at tyler.k.buckley
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