“this” being
such a long list
this poem would be
a deadly bore
thinning out my bog’s
black taro plants
now that requires
a special mention
each 30-pound hack and heave
of roots and leaves slopped into
the green can till it’s filled twice
sneakers sucking in the muck
back bent further than it should
arms and legs splattered black
this yearly festival of curses
burns for a day or two
till it cools into an * on my
elongated directory of shouldn’ts
*pain in the freakin’ ass
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