ATM, Lawrence
By Christopher Citro
Sunday morning
in a heated security entrance,
the ATM smells
of the homeless.
Two hamburger wrappers
next to where two men were sleeping
with their eyes open.
Now all that is left
is the stale air
and spit where the bills fall out,
Ashes pushed into corners
where otherwise
webs would be,
A fist-sized hole
in the whitewashed drywall.
It smells like Arizona in August
in here
but this is only Kansas
and February.
-- Christopher Citro lives in Lawrence. Poet's Showcase features work by area poets. Submit your poetry via e-mail with a subject line of Poet's Showcase to mpaget@ljworld.com or send typewritten (not handwritten) submissions to Mindie Paget, 645 N.H., Lawrence 66044, attn: Poet's Showcase. Teen writers should submit their work to the 18 & Under page at teens@ljworld.com.
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