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Da fridge his sterted laekin
a puddle owre da lino. Errands
still sit i da hall – rummelled
plastic bags skruffle as dey settle,
milk flatshes loff, cheese sheek
be jowl wi room-warm iggs.
Da ramp o da kettle wis lang ago
doe da tae remains unmed, becis
a’m trapped i dis poem. No able
ta laeve fir I fin me da perfect wird.
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