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It wasn’t bigger than a breadbox. It wasn’t smooth as glass. It didn’t smell good or bad Or have any taste whatsoever. It didn’t make a sound. It didn’t offend or flatter. It wasn’t what you’d call Well-mannered in the least. It didn’t ask any questions Or have any answers. It didn’t raise any issues Except maybe one. What could we do But find a lonely spot, Light the fuse, cover our brains And run?
Copyright 2021 Michael Simms. From Nightjar (Ragged Sky, 2021).
Michael Simms is the founding editor of Vox Populi. His poetry collections include American Ash (Ragged Sky, 2020).

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This is incredible Michael! Thank you!
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Thank you, Allison!
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it is like the whimsy of satanic verses by salman rushdi
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I admire Salman Rushdie. Thank you!
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you are most welcome
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