Elaine Feinstein


A QUIET WAR IN LEICESTER

the shelter, the old washhouse
water limed the walls
we only entered once or twice
cold as a cellar we
shivered in the stare
of a bare electric light

and nothing happened:
after the war
ants got in the
sandbags
builders came

and yet at night
erotic with the
might-be of disaster
I was carried into
dreaming with delight
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