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Poem	Executioner happy to explain How his wristwatch works As he shadows me on the street. I call him that because he is grim and officious And wears black. The clock on the church tower Had stopped at five to eleven. The morning newspapers had no date. The gray building on the corner Could've been a state pen, And then he showed up with his watch, Whose Gothic numerals And the absence of hands He wanted me to understand Right then and there.
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