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Night street through blinds

It was that kind of year–
Politicians rankled the masses,
Thugs roamed the streets,
People died needlessly.

A Year of the Monkey, they said.
Two thousand sixteen, it was,
and as its namesake implies,
a wildly mischievous child,

searching, perhaps for an escape,
peeking through window blinds
as the new year comes into view,

wondering whether 2016 will leave
when the window is opened
to welcome 2017 in.

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