Poem: (Besieged)

 
 
 My local post office
 was besieged yesterday.
 I shirked the queue to skirt
 the mask-less, living chins attack.
 


 Every molecule
 might be blame-free in its
 shop-worn simulacra,
                                             (seeped in from a loud one's
 
 

                                             Meeja Stud. homework - aargh)
 Nothing's no bother when
 bothered most the time, but
 I don't fool easy:
 
 
 
 dealers of gruff guff,
 say, or gran's skimped covers
                                              (unfit for emboldened
                                              street wine quaffers even)
 


 two examples of risk.
 I ignore youth's slave talk
 but mentally in bits, 
                                              (and still without a stamp)
 
 
 
 

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