Reading my poem Buffalo 66 in Bloomsburg Pennsylvania

Buffallo 66

The roof is leaking in the $2 theater
dripping near my popcorn as the screen flickers.
I’m as excited at a 12 year old seeing Star Wars.

I’m nearly alone in my cinematic enlightenment.
It’s useless to say not another university student in sight.
Romantic notions of what college was to be faded to black,
and I am content to watch my first independent film.

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