WHISTLING SHADE |
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On a Strollby Kyle Anderson
The boy lifts the dead grackle From the sidewalk. Crabgrass sprouts In the ant pile. He cradles home The nightmare rainbow of its body, Bathing it in the sink like a sweet potato. The feathers, the gravel. Wash away. They spiral around the drain Like drunk teenagers In a crop circle. Outside, he grips The skull, swinging the skeleton Clockwise until it detaches, Rocketing off like a string-snapped Yo-yo. He chalks look at me On the brick wall Of his grandmother's house, Grinding down The beak to nothing.
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