Down where the washing-line stood

an orange flicker
in the outside privy

where leaves rustle
where night screeches

said carpets rolled
said bottled beer

said black and white faces
to fade, to stay young

for voices by the piano
for tunes of summer nights

when fat fingers thumped keys
to gramophone scratched trumpets

while in shadows
in unlit hedges, a cat hunts
and something bitten screams a melody

 

Reach Poetry

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