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Robin Reagler A Berryman House Has something like a garden out in back. Is gray. Like so many things. I'll drink to that. A job, a friend, address: not that I lack Any of the essential stuff. In fact No, I won't start up my lying habit yet. A chemical solution clears my mind Of little tics. I focus on the faucet Near the door. The doctor says I'm fine. Here everybody speaks a foreign language. I hesitate to wedge myself inside A situation new to me: the rotten edge Just lying there like secret pesticide And who the pest, that's what you're wondering now. And what gray trellis we be creeping down. |