Joe’s Cafe

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We drove shovels,
into the winter ground,
drove shovels
into the one inch gravel.

A french drain was needed
to change the direction of the creek,
so long underground,
wanting the light of day.

But then there was the corner of your house,
that was damp in the winter months,
the roof was moulding,
the family was holding
against the stacked deck
and the odds.

Those odds,
we gamble to live.

Distant strings,
cross the side room,
at Joe’s Cafe,
old Commercial Drive,
moments to socialize,
a sense of villáge,
lanterns sway,
open signs beckon.

We live some more.

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