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A small home-computer-based selection of new poems by John F. Deane, "Mainly of
Women", some 9 poems: here's one of them:
Till-Music
Dolores, mocked for her withered hand,
for her side-legging walk, her hare-lip, her stammering;
we were, all of us, guilty
save when, after Mass, she opened shop and we came seeking
thruppence-worth, or sixpence, or a penny –
fruit pastilles and hard gums, lucky bags and liquorice pipes,
marshmallow mushrooms, slab, cough lozenges –
then was she mistress, for the nonce, of weights and measures,
playing her jingle-jangle till-music; woman
with a preference for dusklight, who would have danced
on this one earth, under bright chandeliers;
she held desire fast in old account-books, never to be
looked upon; misery was something
she kept hidden as a diary, to pick over, solitary, by the dying light;
there is no geography to clarify such a life
from the wail out of the cramped womb to the final silence; and what
do the scriptures say of life’s banquet?
each guest and place at table, each delicacy, each sharp note stricken.

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