Locked Out In Sydney

Locked out in Sydney, A poem

I’m locked out, in Sydney.
Sitting on the street.
Waiting for someone with a key.
It feels like a metaphor,
Except I’m really actually locked out,
In sydney. Like really, without a key.
Keep your silly metaphors to yourself. When you’re locked out,
You’re not calling for Yeats to come around.
You’re calling a locksmith.

[written on an iPhone]

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