SPRING RITUALS. Poem. Steve de France.
Dogs baying, howling. Men in a jeep. Drinking beer. Pointing guns. Shrubs cracking under wheels. I'd seen them earlier today. Sitting in their jeep. Shooting squirrels out of trees. Blew 'em all apart. But I ran till the forest was quiet. Resting here beside a clump of dead branches I he
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