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Pokesdown

by Richard Vince

It’s almost black and white in
My mind’s eye: the hoover
In the understairs cupboard,
The railway station glimpsed
Through lattice bridge holes.

Buses are faded yellow,
Streets an empty grey
Mirroring the summer sky,
While the sullen sea beats
Tired fists upon the shore.

Only the walls are monochrome:
Endlessly blank, they bound
Steep stairs ascending to
The heavens like a mountain
Too tall for my infant feet.

11/15/2018

Posted on 11/26/2018
Copyright © 2018 Richard Vince

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