by Ralph Dumain

The snow-covered church is a stinking bore.
Pears are ripe on the fruit-stand in the open air.
The radio plays something from the sixties.
Rollerbladers are minor distractions
from leather-bound books and heavy breasts
demanding to be uncovered, squeezed and sucked.
The afternoon is alive with possibilities.
Sometimes it's torture, to have to take it all in

[11-12 February 1995]

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(c) 1995, 2002 Ralph Dumain