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Between Blackfriars and Waterloo
In a country that dreads most color
it looks so loud against the mud,
black mud and red blanket spread
by the edge of the shriveled Thames
as strollers crowd the Queen's Walk
to lean on a railing and study the scene:
two policewomen in black caps,
white shirts, neckties, two guys
in huge rubber boots dredging the shallows,
pewter clouds overhead that let the sun
leak on the mud through cracks of blue,
and under the blanket something uncovered
by outgoing tide, somebody's body
shrouded in my favorite color.
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