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A Brief Encounter at Dillards

Sometimes I see a man in a glance
Into the glass of a storefront,
And for a few seconds think
I know him,
At least below the waist.
Those are legs that allowed him to the grab the rim,
And kick a soccer ball across the street
Into the Clifton place
Where afternoons were spent in
A continuous scrum of football,
Fist fights, mush ball and yelping.
The posture, however,
A bent spoon by a coffee cup,
The belly, the inflated face,
Is a stranger beyond a
The vague recollection
Of neighborhood men coming home at dusk,
Carrying lunch buckets with one hand
While bending to retrieve with the other,
The Gary Post Tribune
Crouching like a rabbit between the porch and the shrubs.

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