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Poetry by Sean C. Bowen 

Sean lives in New York.





© 2008 Sean C. Bowen





The note
written on a ripped piece of matchbook
so perfectly
placed in the center of the coffee table
read as follows -
Dear, Ricardo Pharoah
can you do me a favor?
my clothes are in the washer,
can you take them out and put them in to dry?
i'd like to try to take a quick nap
wake me at around nine,
so that i might have time
to get ready for work
and walk heady
may you triumph Ricardo Pharoah!





The fellas were standing around the fire
each afraid to let the other know
they were in too deep
growing marijuana
shooting guns at empty cans and bottles
sleeping in tents
near the reservation
at the end of the trail
that split aspen woods in two
the woods that hid their garden
the trail they tried covering with leaves
the garden with traps set for vermin
near the stream used for irrigation
where they chopped wood
for the fire
















All work is copyrighted property of Sean C. Bowen.




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