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i remember laying
on the living room floor
while Grandma slept
on the “davenport”,
her legs too weak
for the stairs,
the tick-tock-tick
of the tightly wound
Westclox waiting
to rattle the air,
the occasional
click and scrape
of terrier nails
on spotless linoleum,
futilely sniffing out crumbs
or to take a shit
on yesterday’s News,
the hum and buzz
of the transformer
on a pole outside,
the pensive creaks
of floorboards
as my Uncle slipped in
past midnight,
and i’d be lulled
to sleep
by the distant booms
of forge hammers
in the valley

©2013, Sean Fulkerson. All rights reserved.