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This poem is taken from PN Review 166, Volume 32 Number 2, November - December 2005.

Alarm Antony Dunn

Blame the apocalypse-cart
that sweeps down Fossgate, early,
to howl us townsfolk out of bed.
We heard it coming streets away -
Stonegate, Petergate, Pavement -
sucking up the last-night mess
we'd scattered round our homes.

Or blame its ear-muffed driver -
who knows? - who never noticed
how he nudged a skew-parked Merc
and set it wailing in his wake,
or how that set its neighbour off,
startled blinking out of sleep
by the first sob of its own alarm.

Either way, the bug was out
and it leapt from car to car
...


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