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Wheelbarrows As if there aren’t enough poems about wheelbarrows, I fill mine up with salmon, wet from the catch and aligned hooked nose to tail wet fins and sealed gills to red sides. If it wasn’t for sun-gloss frosting their eyes, and the gulls crying greed, and the weight of the wooden handles in my palm, I could skip the poem that’s about freshness and gratitude but mostly about a wheelbarrow. |
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