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Carswell, 1962

Kevin Clay


We lived in a flight path.

Vast birds flew over us,

freighted with lethal eggs.

It was the warm autumn

of a cold war.

In school, we were herded

to the halls.

Small sheep, ripe

for shearing. We lay our

books open

over our heads, that were

tucked in

between our bended knees.

Would the knowledge

spill into our heads

that way?