The Poetry Kit |
| Maureen Weldon | |||
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THE DANCER I am tired, my brain hangs loose, locked in my rucksack. This is the hour for the owl to fly, to hoot to the winking moon - through clouds of mist. This is night the quiet time: because I am on my own... While night-clubs choke with laughter, and the girl in the white dress throws her shoe at the man who wanted to fill it with beer, but could not, no matter how hard he tried. Then the many houses, blinking with lovemaking, and babies and grannies and granddads. But I like being on my own in this quiet time, because tomorrow I will wrap my ankles round the world. |
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