The rumble of the preacher on Rye Lane ends.
Dusk is close.
I put my radio up high and
Knit misshapen mice.
A warm rainy night, umbrellas smoky,
Drenched to the knees in cut grass.
Strange children with sticky teeth,
Polite conversation about the weather.
A night to be crazy to go out in.
A boom takes off,
A fizzle.
My windows may smash.
I sit and intermittently listen,
Over the gunpowder,
To my radio show.
I knit misshapen mice.
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