She does not know the names of my sons,
or my old fashioned roses and has no idea
about my apple espalier and the birds that visit
every morning for scraps of fat and crumbs.

My friends have never heard of her.
She will disappear into my next poem
like a windfall apple
that rots unnoticed in the long grass.

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Audio
Caroline Davies reads What the Bully at work cannot touch 

 

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