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Famous People
Pull down the shade,
turn the page,
swimmer, this is the final lap
father, the lawn mower is stuck
we have to push it through the tall grass.
I wish I had perfect hair
so I wouldn't laugh so much,
so I could write the numbers,
and the press of my slacks
kept the grass short, and the dreams
shuttered in stone corridors.
I wish this water knew me
only as gold medalist, as a pose,
perfect for you this moment,
as the bus stops,
and you fold me into your magazine,
and walk briskly to your doom.
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