By Laura Esposto

They have always come with dogs
and guns and their fat pink god
gnawing at its leash. As is tradition
somewhere a wikiup has razed
and rebuilt itself from salvaged air
while no one was watching. The children
and elders, all of our heads black bagged
and sunk into the deep stillness of earth
or some museum auction. And closer
than we would like a game is being played—
the stadium filled with the fans’ pitless stares,
the roars flooding over one slobbering tongue.

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