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NOW ACCEPTING COVER ART (SHŌ NO. 4)
POETRY SUBMISSIONS REOPEN ON APRIL 1

Shō Poetry Journal

Established in 2002

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The End of June

by Robert L. Penick

The old man at the corner bus stop –
there without fail each morning at eight – 
disappeared either two weeks or six months ago.
I’m not sure which.
Was 1987 the year I dated the girl
with the long auburn hair?
Perhaps it was 1986.
I was at the university, I know.
I remember the mole on her back
but not her birthday or eye color.
Things move away more quickly now
and fewer things take their place.
I walk around this city, peering
into faces empty and bloated
like drowning victims.
Last night I saw a bird fall
from a wire, wings unmoving
before it hit the street.

This poem appeared in Shō Number 2 (2003)

Shō


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Chino Valley, AZ 86323

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