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Poems From a Peeping Tom I saw her sitting in her third floor window reading the poems I sent; she leafed through them for a while and then went into a frozen hunch, for several seconds, then she reached for her telephone, and I went still in the dark below, thinking soon she would toss a sigh or maybe a sob of recognition; but all I heard was the sirens of twin patrol cars wailing toward us from the bowells of a bad city. |
Additional Notes:
A slightly different form of this poem was published in "The Coffee Shop Times."
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