There is a theatre festival here
to which I have never been

There are famous vineyards here
whose fruit I have never tasted

There is a turn-off on the 401
I won’t see again for a while


Lisa in my car

I laughed at the time, but she was right

She would never see me again

There is a theatre festival here
and as she leaves me for the last time
a sour horizon swallows the sun
and her red hair
turns the blue sky
to wine

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