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writing a poem on the bus
and the elderly woman sitting next to me
says oh, is it about us
got you a lettuce
hope you like it
it’s as crisp and green
as an apple   ..
caught a fish in the pond
although it later transpired
it had every right to be there
got a kebab on the way home
could tell it was on the way home
it looked knackered
not having felt great for
ages one somewhat ..
threw it aside
thinking of course
a poem is never

as good as
it might have been,
though    ..
watched an old bloke on the train
struggle to open a packet
of sandwiches and offered him a hand
which he gratefully ate
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