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14 Broken Hearts He had not yet met A damaged woman he didn’t love. They came to him In all sizes and shapes, And he kept them for months, Attempting to mend each one Before he sent them Back on the street again. Here were hungry women Without names or faces— Girls who couldn’t quite guess What to make of their lives; Always watching and praying For days which never arrived, Nights that left nothing more Than an empty circle of sleep. So good did he eventually grow At his collectable craft That women stood in line To plead each separate case. There was much hand wringing And the jerking of tears; Soon he had to add An extra story to his house. The neighbors assumed he must be Some type of petty criminal. They filed countless complaints, Alleging he was up to no good; But that didn’t stop him From filling the floors With waif-like waitresses And an occasional obese usherette. 15 In the end, then, His home became a hotel Whose revolving doors opened To women from around the world. Here he worshipped a single truth Behind four granite walls, Where he lovingly exchanged One broken heart for another. ...

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