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English Lesson


Andrew Lander

Through the fingered panes
to a far corner of the playground
I gaze as leaves lift, linger
and fall
before lifting again.

"What are you looking at?" My teacher

I return to my poem about a boxing fight
watched on television
the night before:

He lifted his crumpled body from the canvas
His face like a bruised apple -

How could I, or any child
write a poem about nothing more
than leaves rising and falling
on a sea of air.

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