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New Left Review I/29, January-February 1965


Christopher Williams

Poems 1964

Every Day

My love comes in at half past five
And lies down, worn out; her eyelashes laden
With grubby mascara, and her eyes full
Of ultra violet seen through a green shade.

I will not tell you how her muscles
Have carried the weight of a full day’s work,
Except, they ache in every tendon.
So she lies down and rests a minute.

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