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Living Wage

I. Commute

Crumbled red leaves

car edging past the sign

eager to be gone.

Someday I will have

an office with a window.

II. Cubicle

My little walls

a speckled grey nothing

like the crow’s egg;

only high up

one rectangular pane.

III. Communion

At day’s end, light

kindles and burns along

her soft, copper hair.

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Written by

james-ciriaco

American

Published: Nov 17, 2011
LinesWords: 1656

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