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Dada taught me cards.Sitting in his suit of pants and vest.A fistful of joker-red hair strewn across his brow.His big belly like a cannon ball.
His name is called and there's a pause
just long enough to halt a war
tame timber wolves and trim their claws
hide diamonds in a secret drawer
He swears on his mother's life he wasn't there.
And if he was there
he swears on his mother's life it wasn't him.
And if it was him
When Harry went awayhe stole a part of Mum.No-one warned us. No-one said.We looked and looked for ages –
Standing by the river, my face grewinto a flat fish and floated offto a lily pad, and I was lonelywithout myself, without my twin.
After the fiftieth insult -
the school bag down the toilet, the stifled
giggle-whisper that hung like a smear on the air -
she suddenly saw
I spied a small lonely boy.I was his beautiful red balloon,from morning through to noon,
What do we do with a difference?Do we stand and discuss its oddityor do we ignore it?
Do we shut our eyes to itor poke it with a stick?Do we clobber it to death?