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  • after Bukowski

    I am walking invisibly down the green
    country lane in summer
    when this boy of about 17
    sun streaked hair fine ripped arms
    hip slung khaki’s smelling like
    new mown grass next door
    eyelashes like a girl
    eyes me from the other end of the
    narrow path
    we stare at each other like gypsies
    leaves cascade overhead
    tunnel river water cool
    black railings barricade the hedge
    queen anne’s lace peeping through
    there is only room for one to pass

    I hold my breath.
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