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On Fame

loosely after a poem of the same name by John Keats

There she goes, a good-time girl
turning her tan and lovely back
on those who have not learned
to get along without her.
Now she's driving off at speed
beside some lesser man
in a BMW up Beverly Drive,
disavowing the dusty miles
and our nights in the canyon,
how she'd grip the bed and laugh.
But still I look, and still
the summer evening lights
from here to Santa Clarita
(so much pretty destitution)
try to tell me why I came
and how it still might be
and how the cost of having her
is reckoned in so many hands.
I'm going back to Laramie.
I've got a job there, a place to stay.

John Foy

Night Vision
St. Augustine's Press

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