Ambulance Juice (a metaphysical poem)

Ambulance Juice

∼ I ∼

Ambulance Juice oozes from his eye through the crack in his skull
and fills my cup—

“Say, Mack, what time it be?”
Sun dial technology sheds a shade shoe to face.

Wipe your tear, pull up that chair. Now the ambulance is here. Mack travelled the sea with sailor’s glee.

∼ II ∼

On red streets I walked, touching the yellow lines.
Deadly streets of pavement; knock.
Fast streets; past streets, “which they carried me across.”

About the Author
Scott Krane has been blogging for The Times of Israel since 2012. His writing has also appeared in The Atlantic, Tablet, The Jerusalem Post and the Daily Caller, among others.
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