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After They Left
September 24, 2018
After they left, he was alone on the steps.
He had a book of Neruda’s love poems.
He may be deluded,
he thought she might’ve smiled back at him.
He got drunk on eye contact, quite idiotically;
he turned to go through the door,
he smacked his face like a idiot.
It was locked, he had forgotten.
So he sat, he wrote,
he poured his heart into his notebook,
it gave nothing back.
© Sean C., Princeton, IL
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