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Teresa Westmoreland



Two of them lying in the half-dark

cool moist modern air.

One shirtless on the floor,

covered with a blue blanket.

The ever present black cap

gone, the deals, the games

now put away in the guise

of peaceful dreams.

The other, briefly awake to

open the door, did not speak.

His rest not complete,

shoes & shirt.

He could be pretending,

knowing I’m watching.