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Let’s say I’m someone
empty as a pitcher,
discordant as traffic, human as an alley cat,
stiff-legged and torn-eared.
Let’s say you’re someone.
who can turn the discord
To a tune I remember
And fill the pitcher.
Let’s have supper, you and I,
at a plain pine table
with muffled sounds through the door
of working people climbing tenement stairs
the day over at last.
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Romero