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She will say it’s not personal and she will it’s over

Kirsten Kaschock

But this is not that story.
We were moving, with cardboard boxes.
We could not get at it with a broom, but
there was a bird dying for three days
in the chimney.  I called the landlord, he said
the bird is already dead.  The bird was not
already.  The bird was not dead.  The bird
spent three days dying.  I was finished with school
in the house for three days packing with Led
Zeppelin because of the loud.  So there was that,
the three-year old, the infant, me and drowning
chimney sounds: furious, then—
pointless.  It was three days, each
with a little less bird, and a fourth day with nothing.
And we left after that day.  We left the day after
the nothing day—packing done
bird dead.  
                                             I will always
hate Syracuse.  We will never be friends.

Kirsten Kaschock

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