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On A Beeston Morning

June 17, 2018

One magpie,
Beeston’s little park
just outside work.

I remember the rhyme
and I’ll take its sorrow
with a cigarette.

The memory
of this morning’s
barely dressed little girl.

Leading the rattled man
to a derelict Holbeck pub.
Its heroin loneliness.

I’ve slept in these rooms.
Their smoke, their foil.
Their needle numbs.

Two magpies now.
A sun breaking through.
I’ve known joy too.

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