we’ve all been goat-shrubbed
bearded with salt, brothers in gray
eventually the night will be enough
to delight our empty bowls
after all, what’s left
for four common subjects
who will one by one step off
this green pedestal
from which we peered
into each other’s years
dad’s yard fading to beige
what did those tools do anyway
who will hide his keys
the snub-nosed .38, now
who was whose keeper
Friday Writing: Poets and Storytellers United
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