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Greasy Times

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Getting off my chair,
tossing the pigskin,
smelling the char,
breeze makes my hair fly.

I sprint deep on a post route,
passing over the grill,
running like a wide receiver,
chasing after the ball.

I think about the burger.
Father and I wait for the moment to eat.
Hustling toward the ball, I
watch as the ball hits the grill.

Hoping the burgers aren’t ruined,
we check to make sure.
Not wanting to chew tar with my burgers,
I wished I packed the brats.




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