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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.
Five children clasping mittenscould not hug the entire trunk.Whole hands could hide in the folds of its bark.James, the tallest boy in class,could sit on a root,
In our flatfaces speakof places across the sea.
In our flatvoices walk intalking, but not like me.
The phone ringsBut never long enoughFor the Slow Man.
By the timeThe set’s switched onHis favourite programme’s over.