She Left Her Umbrella

Poem By Paul Bryan Friedman

This paradise will never be the same.
The salon is upstairs, on the second floor. You can't miss it.
If I were younger
and no one told me about
days like these,
I'd sing a doo-wah-ditty-dum-diddy, too.
I'm not
and offers of succor come to late.

Help, I need somebody
not anybody.
I need
someone, too
please, woo.

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Other poems of PAUL BRYAN FRIEDMAN

I See You Every Night

I wonder if
y-a-til;
are you reo-lly ate-ly lonely?
Il y a un pour tu.

Fourteen Years Ago

My mommy's mine.
loves us all the time
loves others you will find.
I can't express