This poem is taken from PN Review 124, Volume 25 Number 2, November - December 1998.
Two PoemsAfternoon
The shadows stretch across the grass, like tight
black lycra round the calves. They flicker, then
they harden - subtly as paint or when
wax freezes solid in your palm. Such slight
and futile observations seem, despite
the grief that properly should be felt at ten
to two, since two will be the hour when
...
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