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Arch
this restaurant is staffed by age
and frequented by women forced
from doll houses
by deaths and liver spots.
they perch at separate tables
not talking, stealing glances,
sipping small coffees in Styrofoam cups
and carefully adding powders from pink and blue
packets.
they lay down their grocery bags and
cardigan sweaters to pick up glimpses,
eyes wide but silent,s
drinking in each other's morning experiences
far before the sun clings to sky
biding time.
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