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End of the Affair

The heating gets switched on.
Sandals build nests in the boot-box.

The old straw hat sleeps, purring,
on the shelf where, overnight,
hats become cats.

Jumpers sidle out
like pale young vampires in early dark.

The gameís up.

Summerís finally pushed off
as you always knew it would:

a false friend,
a good lover gone bad.

Richard Fleming

If you have any thoughts on this poem, 
Richard Fleming  would be pleased to hear them.


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