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The Anole

by Linda Jenkinson


The anole stopped
and stared at me.
He didn’t seem afraid at all.
I turned my head
and he was gone.
His stare was just a stall.

The night was still
and one bright star,
covered by a cloud,
gave one last wink
and it was gone
I was all alone.

Alone I stood,
yet not alone.
I heard
the crickets chirping word.
and in the bush the rustle
of a restless, sleepy bird.