Poetry by Irish poet Michael O'Dea. (poems © Michael O’Dea, Dedalus Press, Amastra-n-Galar, Lapwing Publications)
As a crumpled up page,
thrown there,
discarded;
in a vague way
the shape of the fist
that scrunched it;
a man
on a pavement
near a doorway
where cigarette
butts are strewn;
his face
bent close to his feet,
into his coat,
away.
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