The Fifteen.

War broke out in the walls of my house. A nest of men
Armed stiff and quiet lined up outside. One by one they marched
into my front room specks of soil leaping from the soles
of their work boots bearing their whole lives in the cusps
of their hands like delicate birthing chicks. Roaring in comradery
as they scale the mountains on my fingertips shedding layer ‘pon layer
of charred yellowing skins heckling history’s carelessness with the truth.
Of the countless men a mere fifteen survived. They ran out of me
Their hankerings wilder than anything my prissy palms could handle


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