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by Peggy Barnett

My car bounces into the many huge potholes
in the gravel road down our street.
The wheel and my head jerk back and forth.
These holes are getting bigger and more numerous.
They are in front of the wooden house
of the man who's supposed to fill them.
He just put his wife into a deeper hole.
He believes she will rise again.
All I want is for these miserable potholes to be filled.
I'm not asking for a miracle.

Or am I.


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