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Collected Poetry

    (rd king dot net)
poetry and digital art

Salmon Cannas  

Prose poems.


  Take Out


It was cold. The storm passed and already the pavement had started to dry. I saw you standing on the cement walk beside the gas station restroom—in a flurry of light. You were wearing a big coat. You were searching in your purse for something I did not think you would find. As I drove by with the take-out pizza, the gas gauge near empty.



     
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