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through the rushes
through the reeds
lashed by brambles
I lose my
watch
Past the oak
a tin of brew
can of paint
aside the weed
father's hunting
spot
He draws down to
grasp his gun
me – a knife
I find his back
gutted, drained against
a tree
Across the rushes
across the reeds;
I turn my wrist
to check the time
that mother wants us home
for tea
I laugh.
through the rushes
through the reeds
lashed by brambles
I lose my
watch
Past the oak
a tin of brew
can of paint
aside the weed
father's hunting
spot
He draws down to
grasp his gun
me – a knife
I find his back
gutted, drained against
a tree
Across the rushes
across the reeds;
I turn my wrist
to check the time
that mother wants us home
for tea
I laugh.
"He's gay."
"He's not gay, Gareth."
=D