by Anthony Arnott
Without second look, breezes
past, her scent locks on me an
instant. Entering the
cafe, coffee. On the third
time of asking, I carve ‘conspicuous’
onto the paper. pen’s fault,
half-listening to waitresses criticise
colleagues. Waiting to pay, I display
offender’s dream, healthy
tip. Life’s in neutral wind clutches
dust and thrusts it my direction.
sun shines on her seventh
month and man who wants to play
Father deems himself too vital. classic
ruined by somebody
whose fantasy to re-write
history.
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