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pink head to toe, climbing  a mountain of mud,
a Jackie O pill box shielded her from brutal August.
nothing protected her seven year old son roasting
wearing a real bow-tie and long sleeves, wing tips glared.

"We're here to save you." she'd heard me cussing a cinderblock,
fuck you this, goddamned you that, cleave where i command, you cement prick.
matching pink gloves blotted sweat
where held over the boy's ears.

"Unless you've got a brand new goddamned stone hammer...,"
she drew a bible from a pink clutch, hurrying to squeeze it,
milk it, wring the holy from the book like a teat.
"...I am going straight to hell and this block is fucked."

she removed her gloves, shoving the bible into the boy's chest.
"Like this..." she picked up a trowel and struck a Jesus blow
dead center on a fresh block.
God broke it clean in two to save my Flemish bond.

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post #67
bio: nate

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