Lawrence Hall
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Sunday Morning: A
Dead ‘Possum and Broken Glass
After the buzzards pluck the ‘possum’s eyes
Like businessmen at the airport Holiday Inn
Choosing olives for their plates at the buffet
It will still be grinning at the sun
After the beer bottle’s empty promises
And the powderings of broken glass have worn away
Along with the tire-tread promises of ads
A cardboard temptress will still be grinning at drunks
“We moved 84,000 cases this month”
The latest life-partner pukes on the trailer floor
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