There isn't enough bark on
this tree to make a basket
and the wood in the forest
is too green and wet for fires.
Settle down to the ground and look
with your ear to the dark earth
see the run of the rabbits
and the tracks of the wild hogs.
You are not a hunter born
because your teeth are plastic
it's not the killing you hate
it's the cleaning you fumble.
My father who's in heaven
or some place in between
may your suffering be forgotten
and your injuries stay unseen.
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