Monday, January 18, 2010

Pulp Poem of the Week

He was in bed
when she came in;
the lights were off
except for the small table lamp
which threw a shaded glow
at one side of the double bed.
Half consciously, she noticed
that George hadn't opened
the window for the night.
Once more she smiled,
this time inwardly.
George was about as subtle
as a fractured pelvis.

Lionel White
Clean Break

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