Eeksy-Peeksy

augury doggerel

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

Leaves

A man on the bus is bright burned red from drink or sun or fire, a red man in his seventies with his nose just glued on wearing green garden gloves and carrying a pail and a shovel. He tips his cloth cap as we pass the old graveyard. It looks like no one has been buried there in years. But there are candles.

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