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the train

 

 

he sat on the train

moving between cities

that all looked the same

next to him was a man in spectacles 

with a five o’clock shadow 

appearing long in the setting sun 

reading a plotting poison pen letter

as they passed over the miles

of neatly trimmed hedges

and buttoned-down backyards

lined with the well tended rose

and he wondered how long

it would take to reach the farm

and if elizabeth

was a good name for a cow

 

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my poem for may play, at tspoetry

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