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The Poetry Pages

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The dog next door is a rotty
and our fence is low.
Up the road is Mr. Todd,
drunkenly waving an axe (again).
The PMT has reviewed its
timetables and I'm stranded
in a place with no name.
I sit down for a read
before I notice the spider
in the sink.
But nothing frightens me more
than my mother
with a pot of Ajax in one hand
and a dishcloth in the other.

Poem by Julie Turner

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Copyright The Bentilean 1999

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