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A short poem about gossip

Simon Smith

That what-not shall not

Be passing my lips I warrant you


Will know I was just shuffling my feet

And then you swayed along with dance


Steps  - that is everything in a train

As if I were drunk in charge of your love


Which you could mistake for you

Are not her or you are not him or her


But I am the clothes I'm standing up in

When you had said no phone calls at work


Against which I daren't chalk up

This email herein for your attention


From Painted, Spoken No 4 (2002)