Tired

by Anthony Liccione

A tired song rolls, past the tired childhood neighborhood. Tired trees hanging in the summer streets of a tired sun, sinking in the sky. Where we jump roped and opened fire hydrants, laughed and splashed against the cool water. Age now beside me, as I retire now in a bed not mine, hearing that old song still rolling, past outside the window. The smell of the air outside isn't the same anymore: the wife, the kids, everything is gone now. The cool water running against the curb down the street, turning in for the gutters.

6S

Anthony Liccione eats and breathes in Texas, but his heart lives for New York.