shooting

I saw a film,
the plot seemed to be about
shooting hippos.

I read a book
which appeared to be about
smuggling bombs in suitcases
across borders .

Another showed a photograph
of a train station,
a lingering wet
kiss goodbye,

Platform nine.

Her sketch pad contain lucid scribbles
of ideas she couldn’t express in words

I saw a tattoo inked on her back,
the blueprints of a new apartment block

someplace South of here.

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