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The tenderness.

A few dark dealers of cards stand in one's face. A card is missing (the tenderness you dream you hate). Teachers are mean. Their tenderness falls asleep halfway through the class. You took out a deck of cards in order to survive. You were punished. Sent home. Abolished. In those days one did not have to do much in order to be abolished. And now this: a few dark dealers of cards breathe in one's face. A card is missing (the tenderness you dream you hate).
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Author:Burkard, Michael
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Jul 1, 1993
Words:86
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