privacy, by Candy Neubert

I have come home.
This room is my room
and the wind, restless outside,
driving the sea hard against the shore,
is mine,
and the salt smell
driving into my nose, mine,
and the bus which so slowly passed
hedges and field, the tractor turning left,
is mine, and when the driver says
do you want to get out here
I do
and the man in reception

is handing me the key.

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