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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
crashing
in the valley
below

©2013, Sean Fulkerson. All rights reserved.

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