Perfect Stranger
H
Herbert Nehrlich
0
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She looked out of the window
of the Seattle RTD, the freeway flyer.
I left the transit lane to have a look
when daydream mode was switched
to off and it was back to what I call
the madness of Adam for his Eve.
A shrew she was and reading Puzo
some kind of transformation had occurred.
I never saw the beauty in the window
again, and memory is unable to oblige
it surely was a visual construct, and struth.
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