for us to
step on a line of black ants
or strike a bee hive
with a bat
and run
like hell down the block.
dexter had a bee bee
gun that he'd
shoot squirrels
and birds
that lined the fence.
life was different then,
and apparently so was death.
now i gently pick up
the cricket and set him
on the porch to find his
own ending.
i think that's best.
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