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Cathal Coughlan
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The Female Line
Curved iron bridge in the sun
locked in place, narrow, don't run,
the older one pauses to share
joking waves
with the wheelborne one.
Minutes pass, there's barely a sound,
wordless exclaimings, tiny flailings,
slated river, nudging up cloud,
do your worst or leave us be.
Such is our only escape
the female line let the graveyard wait.
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