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Friday 18 May 2012

Through the underpass, darkly

Wheeling home alone.
Pink-lit shadows of dusk
at my care-worn shoulder

three pissed Irishmen
spinning too fast,
yelling “The Girls Are So Pretty!”

You used to sing that
sending flat pebbles dancing

skimming over the water
impressing my daughters.

There should have been
light at the end of this tunnel.

© Sophia Roberts
All rights reserved

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