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May 31, 2017 / barton smock

I can’t take your sadness anywhere

a child chewing on a stick
trying to pass for a child

a few of his friends nearby
human
and meant
to age

a mother, not his, reading a book
about a mother
not hers

her husband
in a monster mask
lovelessly
jumping
rope, a sandbox

emptied
by the orphans
of deformed
swings

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