Friday, April 16, 2010

Poem by Bob Bradshaw

MaybeI had never known anyonewho kept fresh oranges and bananaslounging in their smudge-free bowls.I was used to fruit sulking.Not that she couldn't be bitchy.She played tennisin white skirts and a blouse trimmedblue like her china.You know the type.But there's something to be saidfor an apartment emphasizing stripes:love seat, towels, spider plants and evenbright fish who drift for

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