The Lodestone Poem by Richard George

The Lodestone



English; well spoken;
an auburn bob.
By a King's Cross kiosk
she asks if I want
'Services'.

No man ungay is immune.
I duck my head, lips pursed
spirit level straight
as an orifice itches: curiosity.

Urban fox
from pedigree. Addiction?
College fees?

For your sake, be a clipper.
Run for it.

Your name is an unexploded mine.

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Richard George

Richard George

Cheltenham, U.K.
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