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Ann Beaver
Poems
Jul 2013
White Shirt
You turn the ***.
Bile collection
Right at the base of my neck
All lined up
Disgusting brown to putrid green
Cup by cup
It all tumbles out of my spine
Onto your new white t-shirt
Try to assert
A muffled apology.
I somehow ask you
Sorry about your shirt, you see?
You reply
It looks white to me.
Written by
Ann Beaver
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