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Unforgiving morning
Unforgiving morning
The desire to escape her cold heart
propels a boy out the door and onto
crisp frost carpeting the front lawn.
Richard Pole races across the grass, leaps
the small wire fence with the old man’s
forward slouch, leaves behind footprints
in white grass - silent exclamation marks.
Misty breath exhaled in clouds of hunger
and disgust, the ring of adolescent trousers
rub thin material against each other, hands
furtively touch waking junctures. Jane’s loss
of sacred flesh - surrendered to a role call
of boys for touches, no matter how rough –
almost eases the ache of chilblained heart.
In some far off dawn, on some other lawn
white as death, crisp linen air in lungs,
see Dick and Jane run;
footprints on the frozen grass - still alone?
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