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the Dannun Dwann Express

The women wash clothes in the river,
pounding them with rocks.
The atomic train slashes by
on the left bank
quicker than a striking snake.

The commuters read papers and paperbacks,
or enter facts and figures
in spreadsheet programs
on their laptops,
or simply sleep and dream.
Only a few glance at the women
they pass every morning
of every working day.

The women know the train is passing
only through the shaking of the earth:
years of its thunder
has deafened them totally.

Their children throw stones
that splash in the river,
never reaching the train.

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