poet

Michael Robins

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by this poet

poem
They're sentences in waiting, diagrams
drained. Tuesday raises her hand & asks

directions to the bathroom. She misses
cigarettes, lessons how kissing the boy

she drags into the Sadie Hawkins dance
keeps her homeliest gal in all them hills.

Tuesdays fenced in, clad like tea cozies
as though for a parade. A