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Poem Number 23273
she sat, and where she sat was damp with the humidity,
the smooth concrete bench sweating even in the shade,
sticking to and sucking at the brown skin
of her legs, dangling.
she waited, brushed the muffin crumbs from her dress,
waited, brushed a fly from her hair, once, twice.
a woman came, smiled to her, spoke to her.
it's what i do.
My legs dangle, one, two,
three times i brushed
the boredom away,
yet each time
increased my desire
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