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The Unexpected
Thomas McCarthy
Delicate as the lacquer-work left over from a raid
Of broken crockery in pink and green. It’s like that election
Heard in the distance, beyond the fat privet hedge,
An election that has set the traffic lights on edge
And caused this collision of ideas. From our quiet section
I can hear anxieties rolling in. But are these not the same as last
Time? Is she not the same? And he, is he not like a gardener
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