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I think of you of course
Though I knew you so little
I think of the time I knocked you down
You were drunk and I was angry
It wasn’t hard you went sprawling
And looked up at me glassy-eyed
I looked at you
At the cheap rug
The scarred bureau
The radio the coffee table the cat
I said I’d better get out of here
Before I kill you
And I ran out the door
Down the stairs
Into the street
Having nowhere to go
I came back and sat on the stairs
In the hall outside the apartment
I could hear you on the phone
Talking to the police
I have this daughter you said and paused
And said again I have this daughter
Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Romero