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Another of my bloody love poems
It’s an old dog
of an idea. Deaf, incontinent and milky-eyed.
I found her
on a path in Wadestown. Walking in circles, stumbling. I stood there awhile wondering what to do. Was there anything to do?
Then a voice.
‘That’s Prudence, she’s out for her walk.’ A woman with a platinum blonde bob appeared from a character home.
Relieved, it wasn’t my problem.
And a little ill. How can something in such a state be kept alive?
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