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Gig At The Railway

His crisp white shirt
Tucked smartly into his jeans
Marked him out as a stranger
At these sorts of things

He kept a protective arm around his wife
But when she went away
One could see it was rather that
She has been something familar for him to hold on to
Every few seconds he would look around
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COMMENTS
Mike Finley 26 April 2006
I like how the lines get longer as the guy gets more insecure. Neat poem.
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