Julie Agoos

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by this poet



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Someone put that basket under the dresser.
Chose to.  Bent.  Kicked it maybe.
Not the first time, it's spent
years there, unthought of; only some time out
Of exile chasing a life
in the sun.  The blond wood is well-stained
for all that.  It has held sandwiches, beer, a knife,
sunscreen and clippers.  Diapers.