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May 2015





The door shuts behind, 
key turns, footsteps 
stravege after 
a tedious shift; 

eyes lift up 
then revert back 
to telly, magazine, 
PS3 and tablet. 

The dining table 
is empty yet cluttered 
inhabited by non-edible 
non-essential stuff. 

'There should be 
something or other 
in the fridge, ' 
a mouth points. 

'Got that, thanks.' 
Footsteps stravege back, 
that's what it feels like 
to be a meal-ticket. 

The door slams shut.




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hellopoet
Written by
hellopoet  🇦🇺
(🇦🇺)   
497
 
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