Cleaner, Smoker –

Dragging-up on a short relit, sheathing black tar through what’s left of her breathing apparatus
The teeth are down to nineteen, dentist told her chew capability lost at fourteen, but she’s a survivor
Broom in two hands, swept-up joyous youth finished before she got there at a new infant school
Demagoguery, habitual criminal smoke habit, her finely-tuned ghosting presence
And in the Assembly Hall, the wall with the big cut-out thick art paper tree with pinned-on scrawl lies of Life

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