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This poem is taken from PN Review 190, Volume 36 Number 2, November - December 2009.

Four Poems Edward Hirsch

Winter in Edinburgh

We were far away from the Festival
and the Fringe in our stone tenement.
And we were far from the Enlightenment
in our dimly lit casino, The Firth of Forth,
that bobbed like a boat on the North Sea.

But I was glad to be sipping Scotch
in the corner with Irene, the blackjack dealer,
who was married to a mechanic,
while the roulette wheel stuttered and stopped
and my roommates punted away their salaries.

And I was always a little chilled and drunk
when she showed up after her shift
to teach me something about the body,
to shudder down on me from a tower
and sleep on my chest, like a thistle.
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