the rub

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It’s that time of the morning

when widows walk their dogs

avoiding the space at the breakfast table.

When frustrated wives ride horses

down the valley, just for the rub.

 

The beach is empty and the sea is warm.

I paddle and invent a song.

Sitting on a damp cold rock

I let the wind dry my feet

and I think

life is not so bad

for a woman witho...

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