A little arch of brick in late afternoon shadow, adjacent leaves shimmering
in open air, shine on windows, bubbles in a glass of pop.
In the arch, a green climber clings in powdery mortar.
A woman laughing, head thrown back so far, mouth open so wide, she must be
cackling, dressed in white, cheap gold upon her ankle.
The man is not laughing. He leans towards her with an inclination of his
back, sunlight in his close-cropped hair, a smug grin, the eyes dilated,
most of his tongue across his lower lip; and the right fist clenched.
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