Non-Erotic PoetryWatching old Genovese womenOld women wash their
bones in the midday
sun, kneading the soap
into the cracking fabric
as it slowly blackens,
rubbing out the stains
of their previous lives.
As they dry, puddles
form in the street below;
cracking their reflection
as they fall. No-one puts
them back together.
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