Lawrence Hall
Zavalla, Texas
In Zavalla, Texas, an old café
Beside the two-lane blacktop through the pines
Even the setting sun seems summer-tired
Aslant across an open page of Keats
The old men political over their coffee
Are silent suddenly, a surprise to all
The oldest shuffles over on his cane
And asks suspiciously “What are you?”
What are you? Each man asks that of himself
In Zavalla, or wherever he happens to be
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