And in the late hours
the one thing we never
regretted--even as we
brainstormed on how to
make up for muscle and
know-how before the thaw--
was the loss of permisson
to exist every day
without a defined purpose,
as disposable and pointless
a noisemaker as the baseball
cards my father's friens
uset to place on their
bicycle spokes.
Assurances gone.
The reliability of
ale to numb you on a
seasonal level,
the TV shows out to
blanket you into niche
and forget that your day
is as purposeless
as painting feathers
of live running turkeys.
Our first two hours
of culling, zombies littered
over the bridge, a fire
finally created to speed up
the process, once we assessed
the risk of thawing.
After that night,
No one would ever dare say
that they accomplished nothing
when the sun was down.
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