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His never lived without a dental plan
seemed louder to me
than anything he ever said.
Collar just right, 
hair parted just right,
answers never wrong,
yet always an endless bombardment
of raised hands from reporters.

Perhaps it was his skill
at dodging questions that made him
just the kind of man people want
to lead them through a war.
So few noticing
his eyes only look 
like they care,
voice raised at the right times 
as a white flag-
the blood on the halyard
definitely not his own.

Norway House, Manitoba - 2020




We've still never found ourselves,
spent so many university nights lost
among long forgotten conversations,
feeling like we were close to something
without a shape, lacking substance,
but god, the certainty of moving forward
intoxicating- dreams bright 
as dead stars, the darkness in between
easier to ignore then.
We were sure of the right direction,
until realizing life involves
going in circles, no bread crumb
trails to follow home,
just paper bagged sandwiches
eaten, while seated under florescent lights,
mustard stained lips saying everything
we needed to know.

Norway House, Manitoba - 2020




Bikinis so tight that every inhale is visible,
but no complaints.
Sunscreen, bought at the dollar store,
overly greasy,
so the reapply easily forgotten.
Sunburn better than that white nose,
and a sunhat when everyone else 
shirtless- coughs lost among sand,
clinging to wet feet,
which never feel completely clean,
while water nurses the heat,
but the approaching warm night promises 
a relapse.  

Norway House, Manitoba - 2020



Richard LeDue was born in Sydney, Nova Scotia, Canada, but currently lives in Norway House, Manitoba with his wife and son. His poems have appeared in various publications throughout 2019, and more work is forthcoming throughout 2020, including a chapbook from Kelsey Books.

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