hold one up to
whatever light of a lamp
silver coin, angled
to show a sheen
lift
lifted at the sun
you can see old Bill Milnes
his cheek with vein scrawl
and the back deck in
Dennis, Massachusetts
Andre the poodle, black
curls of his fur, soft contrast
to pine quills, brindled
stacks of thatch , brief sticks
that scare the bared feet, or
Andre's hot nose.
If I was there now
I'd be bored in the
afternoon, nothing to do
not eating a pear I never
had a taste for pears.
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