POEM: Revolving Exile

He was an exile.
Shoved through a turnstile.
Kicked to the burn pile.



One day he walked back.
Followed the train track.
He’d no need for hijack.



Then, sitting on a park bench.
Life threw him a monkey wrench.
And he couldn’t entrench



So he got caught by the eddy.
When he wasn’t ready.
“Not again!” said he.



As he swung around again.

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