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Country
Away from home at last,
from the whirr of lost moments
and the smell of boiled bones.
They slipped into the weekend traffic,
his hand in her lap as she drove.
Her lipstick had blotted one tooth pink.
They soon found the edge of the map
and a farm lane to sleep.
He asked her to smell the hedges and fields
but she, jittery as the night air,
refused, poising her earrings on the dash,
reclining her seat like a dentist’s chair.
First published: Storm magazine
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