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What my mother knows
December 20, 2016
The mice scatter like roaches
under camera lights and a boom mic.
When the city comes to mourn roadkill carcases, an influx
of open palms line up like telephone poles,
all waiting to get their share.
An outbreak of arthritic fingers desperately try to
claw away at leftover pieces
as skin collides with concrete.
© David G., Stony Brook, NY
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I wrote this piece at 4am in the morning.