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Poetry #370
(published February 21, 2008)
by R.J. Bullock
Lee's family lived next door and their dad used to get
drunk and round them all up in the dining room at
gunpoint while he raged at how they embodied life's

injustice toward him, until one by one all six'd tremblingly
correct themselves and he'd finally collapse in the chair,
letting the gun fall from his dangling hand, the veins

on the back bulging at the sound of it hitting the floor.
It was always empty but for once when they'd found
three bullets in it which is what made them nervous.

One day when we were maybe ten this boy mouthed off
about my old man and I wrestled him down and was sitting
on his chest smacking his face when my dad came out

the kitchen door and pulled me off. He glared at both
of us then told Lee to stop his blubbering and go home.
I realized then that Lee's family didn't have it that bad.

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