NON-POETRY POEM
The three things I send
are still with me here :
But we don't have them.
First morning snow, and
it was still in October.
When the war against
handball turned out to
have been, actually, a
war against Hannibal, I
was - shall we say -
'nonplussed'? It was
never meant to come
to this, but - when you
hijack a train, there's
nowhere to take it.
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