her olive face huddled in army-green,
she rapidly paces the gray alley between
the Chinese-red diner and indigo health food store.
a lanky form shivers in tan; he circles, blocks;
disconcerted by his rage.
"I'm really angry," her husky voice travels on fog folds.
i watch them, slowing my steps.
she shouts, and tense jet-sparkles fall from her black eyes,
the half-moons of purple staying in shadow
on her face.
regan lee
oregon, 1980s
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