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Skip.

There is a yellow council skip

outside the house,

a small number of items

left there by a man in a hurry.

I feel cheated,

I have nothing

that I want to dispose

of but my soul.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017

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This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged poetry by Ian D. Hall, poetry from Bootle., poetry from Liverpool, Skip on March 22, 2017 by admin.

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Ian D Hall


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Email Ian at bluesquonk@hotmail.co.uk

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