Fall 2009 / Issues / Poetry 2009 / Volume 40

A Sundial — John McKernan

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Can pick

Any lock

This is not

A test

Of Feeling

At noon

My shadow

Seeps into the ground

Like a wound

The last time I looked

I was still there  Drunk

Asleep on the porch in Omaha

Each eye wrapped tight

Bulging with imitation midnight.

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