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Wife on the Run 

My wife is moving quickly. When I
try to get a kiss, her lips slide past mine.
Sometimes a spark pinpricks us both
with a static shock as her slippers
quick-slide across the floor,
her shadow disappearing.
Last week, a bounty hunter
was seen snooping in the back yard,
so now she’s making herself scarce.
  • A poem by Timothy Brennan.


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