My mother once told me –
back when we were talking,
which we did in those days
but haven’t done for a while now –
never to poop in your own backyard.
Which I obviously then did; because, why not?
And, besides, I immediately then got
scooped up and placed in another garden,
greener, lusher and more verdant,
set free to roam as I pleased and it pleased me a lot –
so no hard ever came of it.
And as for the poop…
well the poop got left exactly where it was,
at the foot of a tree next to a wheelbarrow full of leaves
and a radiator ripe with rust,
where it shrank and withered over time
growing old benignly.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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