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46 the minnesota review Peter LaSaIIe Blue Snow At your apartment, Past three a.m. And after love With the divorced woman. (She had said she must leave — There are two kids, A babysitter to pay.) You belt your terrycloth robe And stand with your legs cold, Sipping a soothing scotch In the living room's darkness; Beyond the patio deck, The snow falls blue In the streetlight; A yellow Caterpillar plow Growls across the stilled boulevard, Till the driver gets out, Maybe to check his chains. He sees you in the floor-length window, You stare at him, and The red, revolving roof beacon Seems to whisper that The rest of them sleeping Are dreaming you two; Immobile, pleasantly frightened, You are quite close, ghost to ghost. ...


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