The sun on East HillGlints off an orange diamond signIn the gloved right hand of theConstruction workerWho raises his left hand andCircles his arm bigAnd gives a flourish of the wristAs he points us on our way. But I don’t want to goBecause now he is dancing,Doing a spin move round the poleHeels kicked high,Continue reading “Sun on East Hill”
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Stacey Murphy __ Poems 