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ten minute breather

by Hugh Fulham



He bounced the basketball alone
in the chemistry lab, close to
the shapely glass tubes
lounging on the shelves
like Dutch prostitutes.

The long windows exhibit
playing fields, full
of puffed up primates
displaying their burgeoning lip fuzz

while jungle drums beat
excitedly inside the staid lab
as he flies over spindly stools
dodging heavy desks
while the bleached bones
of skeleton Frank,
rear like an angry god.

Now Frank's got good reach,
always in at the deep end

He feints a left, ducking
under stretched fingers
blind, and shoots,
cool as a leopard.

And the crowd goes wild!
Tim, Tim, Tim,

Tim!
Just what do you think you're doing?
Oh sir,
I, thought  
and, lunch
time?

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About Hugh Fulham


Hugh Fulham wrote this, he doesn't usually speak of himself in the third person. That would be just weird.

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