The Feature

We meekly retreated
From the Picture House trip,
Me, in distraction,
Rewound, tightened grip.

First, I slipped-out,
From the retrospective;
I hid in the Gent’s,
Stiff limbs to forgive.

Fatigue staining my heart,
When I hide this broke,
Intermission then beamed.
We left, for my health.

Hand-held,
‘Cross the High Street,
You guided, then a pull;
Early journey home,
Is a feature of all.

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