these are the timesdirty beloved
-

28.6.04

Death

...Junior
the butcher rolls it forward, laid out across
a low dolly: a button buck, tiny spikes,
red eyes clouded over — stiff like a toy horse
knocked on its side. Hunters freeze their kill,
bring it to Junior to make "roasts, chops —
hamburger, mostly," Junior says...

Daisy Fried
Poetry Daily
Jun.28.04

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