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I’m No Dummy

By: Dawn Miles

The Poem

Curated, she sits at the window
framed by Edwardian glass and a touch of Orla Keily.
She cannot look up
Or down
Or to any side.
Frozen with a drape of Hepburn around her throat.
Still, in time and space.
High, high above the street;
her view is good.
Down on the street
I walk and swing my arms because I can.
I smell the roses and look up at her
But she cannot look down on me.
I am no dummy.
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