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Locked Out.
Sometimes you are a sealed strong box with no spare key .
I strive to jemmy you with chisel questions-but scrap my skin,
struggle to unpick you with hair pin chatter –but prick my
fingers,
smarting I watch TV , listen for your combination click, Can
I get you anything?
Fiona Sinclair
If you have any comments on this poem, Fiona Sinclair would be
pleased to hear from you.
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