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an early poem reprinted in "Poems People Liked (2)"

The flags unfurled fly gloriously.

Tipsy barmaids fill the empty glasses

gleaming in the publight, frothy with beer foam

dripping from the fine-ground edges as I drink.

Where is yesterday? As lost as week-old flowers?

And regret that turns out pockets – is he gone as well?

 

I hear the flags flap grandly.

Cannons boom across the brimming beer.

A girl as young as any takes my arm

lifting me to the resurrection.

Voices mirror sounds

as soft as fish v’s in still water.

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