Toothless and electrified as I walked toward you,
"My dog is mean, can I pet yours?" Fathers grin fearful I might say hello, Dance, child, dance at the edge of the wood. The boy's long eye-lashes stroke the fine fur, Men turn their backs, legs astride, not a word. Cast their rods, hunt down the children they once were, Dance, child, dance at the edge of the wood. Four fish lie dead, gills heaving, beating dirt "Have a good day," each word pierces a worm. To the lake, to the horizons, slay the stranger within, Dance, child, dance at the edge of the wood.
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December 2020
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