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A poem11/5/2020 15.02 – 24th March 2020 I hear helicopters, scarce cars The occasional siren sending shivers As I say my prayer It is 3 o’clock Where the air should be filled With pastures of schoolchildren But not even the idling smoke Wafts through my square window. I taste cupfuls of lemon and ginger A sombre heat runs down my throat As I sip and sip It is 3 o’clock And there is nothing else to do Except wish I was anywhere else but Here and instead I grab my pillow And cry out my salty tears For I do not know what will be of this city, Once the day is done. I can only wish for this wholly monstorous thing To take off and to be gone. Contributor: Ellena Vissani
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