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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Aug 2023
caps lock
Until when
and then the ink runs dry
the pen seizes up and
teacher starts to cry
but
it's still only Wednesday
as if wishing it away
would change things.
the bell rings
recess
progress of a sort
until you're caught
smoking
and you get what they call
'a talking to'
anyhow
I'm touching base
somewhere
on the North face
seeya
at the top.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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