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The Duck Shit at Clarion Creek

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We liked to stick it in a bb gun and shoot it.
We tattooed with it. We said hallelujah,
the poor man’s tanning lotion.
Then the frack wells began, something black
capping the water and we got high
watching a green-backed heron die.
We got funny at Clarion, flung
each other’s underwear into the trees.
Why was it we got naked there
and nowhere else? Maybe we knew
we were getting good and ugly, rusted inside
as the trucks we rode into the water.
Maybe we knew we only appeared
to be floating, but soon and wholly
we’d go under, and there
would be nothing of return.

Source: Poetry (January 2014)

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This poem originally appeared in the January 2014 issue of Poetry magazine

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The Duck Shit at Clarion Creek

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