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This poem is taken from PN Review 243, Volume 45 Number 1, September - October 2018.

Three Poems Susan de Sola
The Matchstick Man

takes great leaps
on his one pale leg.
Bounds with relish,
saltates with snap,

florid, russet-haired,
bulbed like a baster,
slubbed with sulfur.

He smiles dithyrambs,
ardent as a dog,
ecstatic to see me.

Suddenly, he leaps,
spins to a headstand,
grovels along the emery –

a long, intense
nuzzle of the head
until it flicks into flame.

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