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Poem of the Week for 11/8 - 17/8
Seen at West End
Wet fish, slapped against each other
in the display window of George's,
stare back, bright eyed.
In Boundary Street's cafes
clouds of conversation mingle
the cadences of many lands.
Smoke wafts, fragrant, from
the Palador Fumior Salon,
where old Europeans sit
among the young, filtering
through lost landscapes,
redeemable only through
the recesses of the mind.
© Elli Housden
