The trolleys move as thunder;
dirty rubber on the glaze
makes lines of ants.
A white slip falls
like a slapped child;
tut, tut, pick it up.
Usssshhhhh.
A curtain hisses into life.
I am surrounded.
I shall die inside my cupped hands.
No-one need know;
I will prop my muscles carefully
with sticks of smiles.
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