One Not So Solitary Writer (poem)

As spring finally comes
To save me from myself
And the dead of my first
Winter
As a broken home

I sit at the corner
Of wooden counters
Reading a book
And having coffee
Bowie’s
We can be heroes
Is playing in the back

And you can’t make this shit up
I will swear to that.

I look up accros the street
Former red light
Quartier latin
Theatre Sainte-Catherine

Twenty years of my life
Around these parts
It has to mean something
Or I would have moved away by now

So I close my book
Genevievre Lefebvre
And Samuel Archibald
People who can write
Like motherfuckers

I smile as the sun hides away and
The city lights mix with the hues of
The blue hour.

I realise I am at peace now
Here
Where young, eager students
Mix with social workers
Aging artists

And one not so solitary writer

A crowd like no one else
TSC
And Montreal Franglais

I smile
For
After the massive crash of winter
And all that was said and done

I am happy here

I am home

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