Next in Line

You try to give it form. But often –

naked, warm, newborn – it has to meet

the axe. You try to clean the torn

detritus up behind the backs of new
contenders for the role, but, next in line,
sometimes, a brand new baby gets

a whiff of blood – and peeks around –
grows cold – to see the likelihood
it too will end up murdered in the mud.





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