22 January 2011


what she loved about you was
the way you folded the

daily news and set it aside
when you looked at her, the

seven-and-seven in his hand
and Thurber's comic dogs

still capering on the wall for
all eternity, barely held at

bay by dowagers made of
curlicues, staid witnesses to

long-ago afternoons, the
ink fresh upon the paper,

words still unread

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