this is the poem
by john sweet
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almost noon and
we are still casting
only the palest of
shadows
this is the poem i start
on the day a boy of sixteen
beats his fifteen year-old
girlfriend to death with
a length of wood
the baby plays on
the floor at my feet and
the cats sleep and
there are no signs that christ
is planning to return
the cars are all
lined up in the cupboards
the poisons all locked
safely away in the
garage
my wife weeds her garden
and i
think ahead to supper
there's meat
in the refrigerator
and beer
and later we'll walk to the
store for ice cream
and it's just past noon
beneath a shimmering white sky
in a town i swore i was
leaving five years ago
it's twenty minutes later
that this girl follows
her boyfriend into
the trees
no one is allowed to
claim innocence here
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