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A poem
Trappists, reciting each his Solitary office from A damp station; Executioners, Patient and precise as death, axing The lay gudgeon; Black queued mandarins, sloping Off in a bundle of long Bones, huffily Assaulting airways to your High-rise slums, where you turn Starling vulgar Commuters from the M6, Family men and harassed Mothers of five On a limited budget, With House of Commons manners; Remote celibate in the Grey and white of your order, Fisher of fish, Or parent, slave to instinct And procreation; are you Such artists at Living that both your selves can Co-exist comfortably Uncompromised? By UA Fanthorpe From Queueing for the Sun 2003. Peterloo Poets Calstock, Cornwall.
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