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Looking To November

by Kay Poiro

Looking forward to November I offer
A crisp nod to the man with
The natty overcoat and back
Carved in the arc of humiliation
Reminds me of the man hired to sit me
As a child, I anticipated his moldy smell
Yellowed fingertips and pirate stories
I still see him
At the bridge near my flat
And I almost speak to him
And he almost answers
Instead the overcoat sighs
You don’t know me
Look away.

Posted in Poetry

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