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Sling and Moley

Jennifer L. Knox

Sling and Moley were at the beach
lying on a blanket under a tree. Nice.

They buried all their four feet deep
in the bluish sand. Cool. “Sling,

I’m hungry,” said Moley. “I would be if I were
you,” said Sling. “Why don’t you wrangle

up grub like a real cowboy?” So Moley
walked into the water, stuck his head

under and inhaled it all into his lungs.
“Jesus Christ” said Sling. Pearls,

plastic and cans sat on the sand space
where ocean used to be. “I’m still hungry!”

cried Moley, so they gathered up some
pearls and sold them for big bucks

to a hoity-toity lady on the boardwalk:
“They match my diamonds divinely!”

They used some of the money to buy
French fries, and the rest a good house

under the same tree they’d started
under, then more fries. “You turned

out to be a lucky thing,” said Sling.
“You never know what’ll happen

with people,” said Moley shaking
salt from his nose onto the plate.

Jennifer L. Knox

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