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Bogdan Dragos
Poems
Feb 2020
for some of that artificial happiness
as a kid
there's nothing
like wasting away inside a tiny
room
sitting on the backrest
of the couch
looking out the window
and seeing her
tread through the rain
a red umbrella covers
her.
Mother
she's going back
to the liquor store
Written by
Bogdan Dragos
M
(M)
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