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This Sweet Thing

ISSUE:  Winter 1984

One windless day in June
a maple leaf left its fold
and sank three prongs
into my grandfather’s skull.
They went in easily.
He was then already eight years in the grave.

He got up,
it was his backyard.
I could tell he was confused.
He said, give me the hacksaw, Dave.
He said, Christ Almighty,
what have you done to this place?
He said, well, I shat through a hole in my hip long enough.
Help me get this sweet thing out of my head,
so I can be dead again.
But, for the love of God, we couldn’t.


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